


Guillotine

by jo2ukes



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: ((someone help these boys pls i beg u)), ((which obvs blossoms into a real relationship)), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Spoilers for secret endings, a collection of good tropes n narratives, alcohol also is a recurring character bc jumin is an alcoholic, cuddles in every form, is this an au??? maybe a little??? idk yet, light religious themes, love and support, nsfw for later chapters, spoilers for seven & jumin's routes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-01 16:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8631115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo2ukes/pseuds/jo2ukes
Summary: "The secrets you tell me, I'll take to my grave. There's bones in my closet, but you hang stuff anyways."





	1. Chapter 1

Shit. Shit, shit shit, _shit_ shit. An uncalculated error—his fault really, should have taken it into consideration—stupid.

He’d managed to run through the garden undetected and was now scaling the wall and doing his best to avoid the CCTVs. Normally, an easy task, but a bullet wound makes anything considerably more difficult. Still, it wasn’t impossible. Nothing good would come out of getting discouraged! Move a hand, move a foot, push himself higher up the building, he’ll make it inside in no time!

Seven all but flings himself onto the balcony, surprised that thud he makes doesn’t attract any attention. He stands, brushing stray bits of grass and dirt off his dress, adjusting his wig—appearances are important, especially when you’re about to break into the penthouse of the Chairman-to-be when he’s away on a business trip!—and tiptoes towards the glass door. He slides it open with ease and relative silence, peeking around the room.

Jumin has lots of things—a fishtank, a desk, bookshelves that cover two of the walls. Seven almost prays that he’ll see his precious Elly scampering across the floor, but he has no such luck. He slips his heels off, noting that shag carpet feels very lovely, and starts to assess the damage. His dress is in pretty good condition, considering. There’s only the small matter of the bloodstain and the tear where the bullet grazed him. Surely something he could make Vanderwood fix, though he was sure they’d never let him hear the end of their complaints.

He probably needs stitches, which is a bummer because he doesn’t really have anything to take care of that. He could find the materials in Jumin’s penthouse, but there were too many rooms and too many ways to get caught. At the moment, he just wanted to catch his breath. He could go for some Honey Budda Chips as well… there was no way Jumin had commoner food stored around though. He could remedy this… supply himself with a secret stash for future emergencies ah, but its such a hassle. And he isn’t exactly planning on returning to the trust fund kid’s penthouse very often unless it involves a secret rendezvous with Elly. When the coast was clear, he’d make a break back to his apartment and get himself taken care of. At the very least he could stop the bleeding. Sooner rather than later. Especially since Mr. Director seems to be rather fond of white carpet.  
  
He grabs a stapler from the desk, picks up his heels, and tiptoes through the penthouse, peeking into room after room. How Jumin ever memorized the place was beyond him. Jumin’s stupid penthouse was a perfect example of why it was better to invest in cars. Cars could be enjoyed by everyone—guests included—whereas a penthouse was just extravagance. A penthouse can’t even purr like a cat like a car could…

After looking in what felt like the hundredth door, Seven manages to find a bathroom. Its huge—almost the size of his whole apartment. So this is what its like to live in the lap of luxury! He collapses on a black leather couch that lines one of the walls (seriously, Mr. Trust Fund Kid, who needs a couch in their bathroom????) and pulls out his phone. His side has stopped throbbing, but he keeps one hand absentmindedly pressed to his wound.

Vanderwood has texted him a grand total of sixteen times. And called him four times. They like to worry about nothing, and they become especially frantic when Seven goes silent for a field mission. Sometimes he doesn’t even have to go quiet, he just tells Vanderwood that so he can watch them squirm. As annoying as they are, they’re kinda cute when they’re stressed over him.

“You better not still be in that facility, you punk,” reads the first text. The rest are variations on the same theme—“I swear to god, if I have to drag you out of there…” “What’s taking you so long?” and “Text me when you’re safe” are among the mix. He chuckles and sends a quick reply, keeping the emojis and meows to a minimum.

The RFA chatroom is silent. He knows better than to think that any of the members are asleep, but they all seem to be busy for various reasons. If he didn’t look like a dumpster he’d consider sending a selfie to Zen just to tease him. He never managed to tell the difference between Seven in a wig and other girls… so it was always a classic joke.

He peels himself off the leather couch, making his way to the large bathroom sink. He turns on warm water and slips out of his dress. The cool air of the bathroom pricks at his skin, making his side feel even more hot. The blood has sort of mostly stopped… he takes his hand off his wound and runs his fingers across the mirror with a smirk.

“JUMIN…” Less is more when it comes to ominous messages. Plus he can’t really think of anything that will frighten Jumin. Is he even afraid of anything? Except arranged marriages, that is? At least he’s allowed to get married, Seven pouts.

He runs his fingers under the warm water and borrows a washcloth from the cabinet. He’s careful to grab a dark one (Seriously, what is rich people’s obsession with white things? Is it because they don’t have to do any of the cleaning?). He runs it under the water, humming to himself and keeping his mind off his throbbing side. He hears his phone buzz from across the room. He presses the washcloth to his side, wincing as he wipes the blood away, and repeats this until the blood is gone. The wound is still open and large… he can’t just leave it, but he’s nothing if not resourceful. He’s simultaneously proud of his genius and shocked at his own stupidity, but he’s already dug a hole for himself so he might as well face the consequences. If he hadn’t gotten shot in the first place none of this would be happening—not to mention the fact that he wouldn’t have had to leave his baby behind. Vanderwood told him the car was too flashy, but Seven insisted it was part of his cover. And it had worked well—he managed to get the phone numbers of some eligible bachelors, much to Vanderwood’s annoyance—his baby wasn’t the problem. It was him. Seven’s brain. It was all his fault for getting distracted.

He sighs, grabbing the stapler from the couch, pulling the edges of his wound together with his fingers. He mutters a quick prayer—Please, God, don’t let me get tetanus. Please let this stapler magically heal all my wounds and please let me have the opportunity to pet Elly—before gritting his teeth and pushing down.

It _hurts_ obviously, but as he releases his skin, the staple seems to be doing a fairly good job at keeping his skin together. He held his breath and pushed two more staples in. Done. For now. His side almost hurt worse than it did before. Ironic.

His phone buzzes again so he pads back over to the couch to check it, glad for the distraction. Yoosung and Jaehee are in the messenger. He signs in, only glancing over their previous messages.

“But bulletproof vests for cats?;;; What would they need bulletproof vests for?” Yoosung is asking.

“I honestly couldn’t say,” Jaehee laments, “I only know that I’ll get the full debriefing in the morning.”

“Cats should be always be protected meow~” Seven chimes in. Elly is too delicate for a heavy bulletproof vest… but Jumin would probably find a way to tailor it to fit her perfectly. Does he have a cat tailor?

“Seven!” Yoosung greets, “Where have you been all day? You didn’t answer my calls;;;”

“Busy,” Seven replies. “But I’m more interested in these bulletproof vests for cats! Jaehee, does our respectable Mr. Jumin Han have a tailor for Elly?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she replies after a pause. “If not, he’ll probably ask for me to look for one tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you picking him up from the airport tomorrow?” Yoosung asks.

“He should be home shortly, actually,” Jaehee says. “He called me an hour ago when his plane landed.” Seven’s heart drops to his feet. Unexpected variable!!!!! Jumin home?? Tonight?? Should he bolt? He felt too tired to run but Jumin could be quite scary when angry… gah, why didn’t he ever consider these things?

“Gotta go!” He signs out of the messenger quickly and turns to grab his things. Out of the corner of his eye he notices the bathroom door is open… and he certainly didn’t leave it open. Shit, shit, _shit, SHIT_

\--

“I trust it’s been a relatively quiet evening?” Jumin asks, slowly ascending the stairs. It’s always refreshing to come home from a trip early. While he loves to travel, it can always be exhausting, especially when Elizabeth the 3rd isn’t able to make the journey with him. He’s taken Elizabeth to the grape farm before, of course, but since it was only a short trip he didn’t want to disturb her with such a long journey. Besides, it was getting cold out finally, and he would hate if exposure caused her to fall ill.

“Yes, sir,” his chief of security nods from the bottom of the stairs. “It’s good to have you home. Rest well.”

“See you in the morning,” Jumin nods, resuming his trek up the stairs. Elizabeth is curled up on a rug in front of his fireplace. Her pretty little head perks up when she hears him walking up the stairs and he can’t help but smile. He supposes he experiences what most people would call loneliness in his penthouse—he notices how the sound of his walking sometimes echoes through empty rooms, he constantly plays some form of string concerto through the penthouse to help keep him from noticing how silent it is, he falls asleep after several glasses of wine because it distracts him from how large and cold his bed is—but dwelling on the feeling is useless when he has Elizabeth the 3rd. He can’t manage an ounce of loneliness when she’s waiting here to greet him. He smiles and walks towards her as she stands to stretch.

Assistant Kang often complains of what she disdainfully refers to as _c-hair_ —if Jumin could ban her from using the phrase, he would—but he never minds. Elizabeth doesn’t shed that much and finding her pretty white hairs on his suit comforts him somehow. It’s proof that he’s not truly alone—there’s traces of another being. The one being who understands him unconditionally, who is patient with his shortcomings, who listens to his frustrations, who doesn’t use him for his wealth or position, who doesn’t run naïvely from one woman’s arms to another, and the one being who truly loves him. The other RFA members call him _obsessed_ and they’re wrong of course, but even if they weren’t, is it really so wrong to be obsessed with a positive relationship?

“I’ve missed you, princess,” he picks Elizabeth up in his arms, her soft purring vibrating through his chest. She looks up at him with her clear blue eyes. I missed you, he imagines she says. Its good to have you home. Her voice sounds like a softer version of Rika’s.

Rika…

He walks to his study, placing Elizabeth on the ground before sitting at his desk and pouring himself a glass of wine. He’d had a bit to drink at the grape farm already—at least a bottle’s worth—but he was always so impressed with the selections there. He blames his exhaustion for his lack of self-control—on a normal night he would stop at a glass—allowing himself indulgence, just this once.

Glass in hand, he sends a quick text to Jaehee—re: materials for tomorrow’s meeting. He takes a long sip. It’s been years since his head has felt dizzy from alcohol. As a child, his father had no qualms about giving him access to alcohol. Not that Jumin particularly enjoyed the stuff when he was younger. At the time, drinking wine or champagne seemed part of his duties as a future businessman and an heir. At corporate dinners he was barely old enough to sit in on, he sipped his wine with all the other adults, listening attentively. He learned to eat before drinking and to drink slowly so that, by the end of the dinner, his head wouldn’t spin and his eyes weren’t dying to close. His palate was just as immature as he was in those days—he couldn’t appreciate the taste of a fine wine like he could now. He couldn’t close his eyes as he rolled the liquid around in his mouth and imagine what the climate the grapes came from were like. He couldn’t paint picturesque scenes in his head, couldn’t appreciate the aging process, and the work that went into each bottle like he could now. Despite that, the taste of this particular bottle was lost on him. His mouth felt a bit numb, but it was nice. In the morning he’d bitterly laugh at his childish behavior, but for now it was nice to relish in feeling nothing.

His eyes flick to Elizabeth the 3rd as she lays on the ground, her eyes transfixed upon him.

 _If we’d met in a different life_ … Rika’s voice comes floating to his mind again.

He bites the inside of his cheek. He should call V, maybe prep some paperwork for the morning, he’s even considering unpacking his luggage himself, he needs something to keep his mind busy. As much as the wine does to numb him, it seems to open some sort of barrier he’s put up. He doesn’t consciously think of Rika—he hasn’t for at least a year. He certainly doesn’t want to start now.

Elizabeth’s ears twitch and she saunters out of the room. He’s tempted to follow her, but he can’t quite will his legs to move. He’s too busy blocking out thoughts of Rika and focusing on the numbness in his mouth. No matter how hard he bites his lip, he can barely feel his own teeth. His forehead tingles warmly and his eyes are glued to the spot on the carpet where Elizabeth was laying. He feels a cool breeze brush past his neck…

Breeze?

The house shouldn’t be too cool—he likes to keep it reasonably warm, even when he’s away, as Elizabeth the 3rd is used to a certain standard of warmth. He hasn’t turned on the air yet—nor would he, with the cold season approaching—and hasn’t had nearly enough wine to start imagining these sorts of things. He tears his eyes from the carpet and looks around the room, noting immediately that the glass door leading to his balcony is cracked open ever so slightly. There’s dark spots right by the doorway, too thick to be wine. Elizabeth meows somewhere across the hallway. He curses himself for his indulgence—of course the one night something happens is the one night he’s drunk, or at least halfway there.

“We may have an intruder situation,” he pages his security chief. “Please check the CCTV feed and do a sweep of the penthouse.” He speaks as he walks towards the sounds of Elizabeth’s mewls—ensuring her safety is the most important. He could lose anything, but he couldn’t lose her. She doesn’t sound distressed, so he keeps his panic pushed down. Anxiety leads to rash decisions which can lead to danger. If he keeps a level head, all will be well.

She’s sitting in front of the bathroom, pawing at the door, but is otherwise unharmed. The rest of the hall seems undisturbed. Jumin breathes a sigh of relief and scoops Elizabeth up in his arms, listening at the door. The sink is on.

So someone broke in after all.

To say he is surprised at the scene that greets him is an understatement. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be surprised that Luciel had broken into his penthouse. It wouldn’t be the first time. The fact that Luciel was standing, naked, in his bathroom wasn’t entirely surprising either. What _did_ surprise him was the fact that Luciel had left Elizabeth the 3rd undisturbed.

Luciel seems to be halfway aware that he isn’t alone anymore—his body stiffens and he slowly lifts his eyes from the ground to meet Jumin’s. He plasters on a sheepish grin.

“Welcome home, Mr. Jumin Han, sir,” he says, “And you’ve brought my lovely Elly!” He blows a kiss.

“Elizabeth the 3rd,” Jumin muttered, looking at Luciel from head to toe. He had bags under his eyes—typical—but there was a different air of exhaustion on his face. His arms were scuffed up, like he’d fallen on concrete, and there was an angry red gash on his side. Without taking his eyes off Luciel, Jumin pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“You can stop looking for the intruder,” he spoke evenly, “There is no threat. Resume your posts, please.”

“I don’t mean to intrude, sir,” Luciel says in a tone of mock respect, “I just needed a place to lay low for a few hours! I’ll be heading out shortly, you have my word!” He bows, wincing.

“Luciel.”

“Yes?”

“Are those… staples?” he gestures to the gash on Luciel’s side. What an idiot. If he was going to go so far as to break into his penthouse, he might as well steal the proper equipment to heal himself. It wasn’t as though Jumin didn’t have the supplies.

“Huh?” he lifts his arm and looks down at his own wound, “Oh, yes, Mr. Trust Fund Sir! Seven Oh Seven is nothing, if not resourceful!”

“Stop shitting around,” Jumin scoffs. “Blame it on the wine I’ve had this evening, but I’m feeling generous.” He walks into the bathroom, to a cabinet in the back. “While I’m getting a first aid kit, wipe off that mirror. My maid shouldn’t have to clean any more of your filth than necessary.”

Normally, he would have called the nurse, but he doesn’t want to draw any extra attention to Luciel. For either of their sakes. Luciel is at least smart about picking places to lay low—Jumin can safely boast having one of the safest houses in the country and it’s not likely that any of Luciel’s contacts (be they friend or foe) know that the two of them are friends. In the loosest sense of the word. He will absolutely be safe here. And, maybe it’s the bottle of wine thinking, but Jumin wants to guarantee that.

 He grabs the kit and waits for Luciel to finish cleaning the mirror, grabbing Luciel’s heels from off the floor. They were rather tall heels—plain, none of the glitter or jewels that often adorned the shoes of social elite women, but classic and black.

“You work in these?” he asks, not bothering to mask the incredulity in his voice.

“Yeah,” Luciel glances over his shoulder as he dries the mirror. “They emphasize my calves,” he says in a weird voice. “Shall I model them for you?” He winks.

Jumin snorts, picking up Luciel’s dress and throwing it in his face.

“Get dressed and follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok folks i've been sitting in juciel hell with like the 4 other people that ship this trainwreck and its time for me to make some content!!!!!
> 
> I should warn for spoilers!! I haven't finished Seven's route yet, but I've finished everything else so I'm likely to write about something spoilery without thinking about it so just a heads up!! ALSO my interpretation of Jumin is a bit different from what I've noticed that fandom seems to go for, but honestly this is the way I prefer to write him (he's my boy and I've projected onto him and I'm only out here to protect him okay). This is slightly AU I guess?? So far I'm not planning on dealing with Saeran or Mint Eye or anything, but who knows... it could work itself into later chapters!! (lord knows i fly by the seat of my pants...)
> 
> I'd love to hear feedback and find other people who are stuck in rarepair hell with me;;;;


	2. Chapter 2

Hospitality was not something he’d ever expected to receive from Jumin. Granted, he hadn’t ever really earned hospitality. Breaking into houses didn’t exactly guarantee a warm response from your unwitting host. Still! He’d almost hoped that if he dropped in often enough Jumin would get used to the idea of having him around. He was the only RFA member Seven could really drop in on anyway—well, except maybe Jaehee, but she didn’t like cats and he had a sinking suspicion she didn’t really like _him_ , not that he could blame her—everyone else was too high profile. Seven couldn’t have friends, but he sometimes let himself imagine he could have… _something_ with Jumin. Even if it didn’t really end up meaning anything. Which, ironically, is what makes Jumin so safe.

He follows Jumin through the penthouse, his dress lazily hanging off his frame and his wig tickling his shoulders. Seven is half bummed that Elly hasn’t followed the two of them—he’d like her to be there to comfort him during the inevitable painful experience of removing the staples. Come to think of it, Jumin was going to have to suture his wound. Did Jumin even know how? Has he ever even held a needle and thread in his life?? A lump forms in Seven’s throat. Jumin seems to be the type of person to throw away clothes the second they show any signs of wear—he doesn’t even wear those fancy clothes with the pre-made holes… but then again he doesn’t wear anything aside from suits and its doubtful they make suits with holes. They would look… awful. And aside from that, sewing clothes is different than stitching up a wound! Or at least, it looks that way. Seven has only seen the procedure in films. On the rare occasions he does need doctoring, usually Vanderwood takes care of it. They take care of it while pouring out complaints, but they take care of it all the same.

“You’re going to want to lie down for this,” Jumin instructs, turning on a bedside lamp. They’ve stopped in a room smaller than the office Seven first walked in. It was still outrageously large, of course, but it somehow feels… comfier. His eyes linger on the bed and all at once Seven becomes aware of how exhausted he is.

“Yes, Dr. Han,” Seven salutes, taking several large strides and throwing himself onto the mattress.

“Don’t call me that,” Jumin says, his voice is stern, but his lips are barely holding back a smile. Ooh, so Mr. Chairman-to-be is amused! What a lovely night to drop in after all! “Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

Seven had never had anyone fuss over him except Vanderwood. And he wouldn’t call Vanderwood’s fussing affectionate. It flirted between being professional fussing and borderline friendly fussing—but can it even really be friendly if all you know about each other is lies? Fake identities and facades and the ever looming knowledge that you’re on the same side today, but there’s no guarantee for tomorrow? Vanderwood was nice enough. Lovely, even, when they weren’t threatening him. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about playing with their hair or eating lunch together somewhere other than his apartment. It isn’t so much that he feels strongly about Vanderwood. He isn’t really capable of lovey dovey emotions and he certainly can’t let himself be distracted by them or even the _idea_ of them. Its dangerous for him, after all. And besides, Vanderwood is more of a stickler for these kinds of rules than Seven.

He likes to tell himself that if he meets the right person he’d tell the rules to go fuck themselves. But, well. That’s easier said than done. Especially when someone else’s life is on the line. And most days, Seven isn’t even sure that he deserves to meet the right person.

“Here,” Jumin’s soft voice pulls Seven out of his thoughts. He holds out a glass of wine, and Seven sits up hesitantly.

“I don’t uh,” he starts, awkwardly.

“In the old days, alcohol was a substitute for painkillers,” Jumin interrupts seamlessly. What was this? He couldn’t honestly think Seven had never seen an old movie before? Hell, James Bond still drank before any sort of doctoring and he has advanced technology.

“I thought you’d want to make an exception since this is going to be… painful, to say the least.” He pauses for a beat and Seven is still unsure of what to do. Trust Fund Kid did have a point... but would wine even really manage to do much?

“Don’t you have…. I don’t know, whiskey or something? Soju, even?” He laughs.

“If you don’t want it, I’m not going to let good wine go to waste,” Jumin scowls, bringing the wine glass up to his lips.

“Hey!” Seven leaps forward, pulling the glass away from Jumin’s mouth—and miraculously managing to keep all the wine in the glass. “Should you even be drinking that before stitching me up? I’ll drink it, I’ll drink it!” He downs the glass in one swig. Its bitter… kinda gross… certainly not comparable to the beautiful flavor of PhD. Pepper. But, Jumin half-smiles. The second half-smile Seven has seen all night—which equals the first full smile Seven’s ever managed to coax from him. It’s the little victories.

Seven slips his dress off again, wincing as he stretches his arms. The staples are holding his skin together, but not doing much in terms of helping him maintain maneuverability. He almost considers regarding them as a stupid idea, but, well, he’s had worse. He lays back across the bed, leaving his arm up so Jumin has full access to his wound.

“What exactly were you doing, Luciel?” Jumin asks, pulling tweezers from the first aid kit. His face is stoic, showing no empathy for the pain he’s about to inflict on Seven’s poor body.

“Are you worrying about me?” Seven laughs through gritted teeth. Jumin chuckles.

“I’m only concerned as a member of the RFA,” he replies. “I want to ensure that all members are safe at all times. Besides, if something were to happen to you, the security of the RFA would suffer. It’s nothing personal, I assure you,” he punctuates his harshness by pulling out the first staple, drawing a yelp from Seven’s lips. This seemed to coax another half-smile from Jumin.

“Well, if you must know, I was out on a field mission tonight. Things went… wrong and I—augh, _FUCK_ , hyung!” Jumin pulls another staple out mid-sentence and Seven throws him a pouting look, knowing that deep down (well, actually, not so deep down… its all surface level) Jumin is enjoying this.

“DIY healthcare is rarely a wise decision, Luciel,” he says with a hint of a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, quit keeping me waiting and just pull out the last one please,” Seven says, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Pulling staples doesn’t hurt any less even when you’re prepared for it, but luckily this was the last one and the hardest part was over. Seven was used to stitches, so even if Jumin totally botched everything he was doing, it wasn’t likely that it would hurt too much.

“An away mission explains your attire for the night,” Jumin continues, his eyes flicking to meet Seven’s before turning back to concentrate on beginning the sutures.

“I could dress like that all the time for all you know.”

“True,” Jumin sighs, not raising his eyes this time. His fingers feel soft and cool against Seven’s burning skin. Despite the incredibly likely possibility that he’s never done this before, Jumin’s certainly not clumsy—his touch is feather light and almost soothing, all things considered. Seven shivers. He can’t remember the last time someone other than Vanderwood has touched him. It feels… nice.

The sensation of touch is a luxury. He can’t afford to get involved with anyone, which really only leaves room for things like one night stands. Seven’s had a few of those, but they’re not really his pace. So much effort gets put in, by both parties, for only a few short hours of pleasure. And he doesn’t have enough time to waste at clubs.

Without noticing it, he leans ever so slightly into Jumin’s touch.

“You can get dressed now,” Jumin says, interrupting Seven’s thoughts. He’s putting the supplies away. Seven complies, slipping his dress back on, noting that his side doesn’t throb as much when he lifts his arms.

“Would you care for another glass of wine?” Jumin asks, holding out the wine glass Seven drank from earlier. “I’m sure you’re still in considerable pain and it’s been… quite some time since I’ve had a drink with a friend.”

“We’re friends, Jumin?” Seven laughs, flicking his hair over his shoulder playfully.

“For now,” Jumin smiles. A genuine smile. A full smile.

“That’s just as well,” Seven says, taking the offered glass. “I’m not allowed to have friends.”

“And I don’t need them,” Jumin replies, clinking his own freshly poured glass of wine against Seven’s. A toast to dead and buried emotions, then!

“You didn’t bring home a beautiful lady you met while on your travels, I see,” Seven teases. Jumin snorts into his wine glass.

“Would you rather I had a woman in my home? I could kick you out and easily enjoy the company of one,” Jumin smirks. Seven is always pushing his limits, but Jumin seems to be taking his teasing in better stride than usual. He must be in an exceptional mood… thanks to the wine, of course. Jumin drinks well—better than anyone in the RFA. They’ve only all ever met up for drinks once or twice. It was a disaster for Yoosung, a coping mechanism for Jaehee, and a battle between Zen and Jumin—ultimately, it resulted in a close tie, but Zen got visibly tipsy where Jumin remained stoic and composed. Or at least, more composed than everyone else. Seven had always suspected that the alcohol had started to get to Jumin, he was just better about hiding it.

“The only beautiful lady this house needs is our lovely Elly,” Seven grins.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Jumin says seriously. He doesn’t bother to correct Seven. Suddenly, he’s a bit interested in the bottom of his wine glass, leaving Seven to drink in silence for a few seconds.

“On the subject of women, however,” Jumin speaks at last, “I must say, long hair suits you rather well.” His voice is soft, but his demeanor is anything but bashful. He looks intently into Seven’s eyes, his expression unreadable. His cheeks are flushed slightly and he looks… almost human. Well, as human as a robotic corporate heir can get. It’s the wine thinking for him, or maybe it’s the fact that Seven really never spends much alone time with Jumin, or maybe it’s the wine that’s making Jumin so damn likeable in the first place.

“Thanks,” he grins, turning up his own charm, and tucking his hair behind his ear. He’s not sure what to say, not sure what warranted a compliment from Mr. Trust Fund Kid himself, not sure why his brain keeps thinking about how nice it felt to have Jumin’s hands on his skin. This is exactly the reason why he doesn’t drink. It’s hard enough to concentrate after drinking PhD. Pepper, he doesn’t know how anyone can manage to keep their head on straight after alcohol. His brain feels like its going to explode.

Elly saunters into the room at the perfect moment, meowing softly before jumping onto Seven’s lap. He feels Jumin’s eyes on him, watchful, as he gently strokes her fur. He’s careful how playful he is with her, knowing Jumin only approves of exactly zero of his displays of affection towards Elly. He runs his fingers slowly through her fur. He wishes he could get a cat of his own. The other RFA members (himself included) tease Jumin about his connection with his cat, but truthfully, its one thing about him that’s easiest for Seven to understand. Cats love you despite your secrets. Cats don’t care if you’re dangerous. Cats aren’t likely to get hurt because you’re dangerous, either. They fulfill a certain need for a connection—having a cat would help him avoid this weird longing for human contact. Elly is lovely and he’d take her over Vanderwood any day. She continues to nuzzle against him, purring loudly, eventually trying to climb up his body (as she was apt to do in their solo play sessions). Of course, darling Elly wasn’t aware of the wounded Seven, so when her claw caught on the tear in his dress, she ended up scratching his newly stitched side.

“Elly!” Seven yelped, peeling her off him as gently as he could manage. He’d forgotten all about Jumin for a moment, until he felt hands assisting him and placing Elly on the ground.

“Are you alright?” Jumin asks, unable to mask the concern in his voice. Seven nods. Jumin must be truly drunk—choosing to fuss over Seven instead of Elly? In what universe?

“She didn’t mean it,” Jumin apologizes for her and she meows in agreement. He kneels on the ground in front of Seven, his eyes glued to Seven’s injury. Tentatively he reaches a hand to the wound, inspecting it with his feather light touch. “Everything seems to be alright, the stitches are holding up,” he hums. He looks up at Seven, his fingers still lingering on Seven’s exposed skin.

Suddenly, Seven’s head is fuzzy again. He wouldn’t describe himself as a lustful person, but there was something about Jumin’s touch that made him feel… greedy? He never really missed physical contact with others until he felt Jumin’s hands on his skin. Jumin’s hands unlocked the door of possibility, showed him feelings and pleasure he could certainly experience, yet offered a safety net. He shouldn’t be thinking this way.  He can’t afford to think this way, to entertain any possibilities is to invite danger in.

But his fingers are brushing against Jumin’s and he’s looking down into that stupid, smug, elegant face and Seven’s cursed brain is wondering how nice Jumin’s lips would feel. What his hair smells like. If the rest of his skin is as soft as it looks. He can’t think this way… He shouldn’t. It’s the wine. It has to be the wine—usually these thoughts aren’t hard to suppress, usually they aren’t even a problem in the first place. And he’s never had them about Jumin. He shouldn’t have had a drink.

Jumin’s face moves closer.

If it really is the wine, then maybe one moment of indulgence wouldn’t hurt anything. They’re both rational people who, at the moment, are feeling less than rational. Even if they gave in, they’d wake up in the morning and everything would be the same. He and Jumin have the same philosophy concerning emotions—they’re unnecessary hindrances.

His lips brush against Jumin’s and he can feel hot breath against his skin.

Jumin is safe. If they both need this, is it really wrong to give in for only a couple moments? It’s only a kiss. Jumin is safe.

Jumin brings a hand to Seven’s cheek, deepening the kiss. His lips really are soft. And Seven had teased him for having no experience with girls, but he’s realizing he may be wrong. Or Jumin is just naturally good at kissing. It doesn’t really matter either way.

The kiss is quick. Hungry. A complete accident. Jumin’s hand remains on Seven’s cheek and his eyes try to read Seven’s expression.

“Jumin,” Seven speaks slowly, “I—”

“—You’ll want to sleep in something more comfortable than that,” Jumin says, moving away. His voice is calm, even, betraying no hints of emotion. Cold, calculated corporate heir had returned. A relief? Seven felt it was. Meaningless kisses were safe. It was a one-time thing anyway—for both of them. Right?

“You’ll find pajamas in the closet,” Jumin stands, gathering the glasses and bottle of wine he’d brought to the room. “I should let you rest. Thank you for your company this evening, Luciel.” He speaks with a soft finality, as though assuring Seven that the kiss wouldn’t be brought up again. It was just another secret.    


	3. Chapter 3

Luciel will leave by the end of the day. He enjoys being a bother, but he never jokes around when safety is on the line, which Jumin can appreciate. Under normal circumstances, he’d feel the need to babysit Luciel every step of the way—making sure they left the penthouse at the same time (if he was lucky, he’d manage to get Luciel out the door first), ensuring that Elizabeth the 3rd was left undisturbed, and leaving special instructions with his security detail to keep an eye out for Luciel. This morning, he feels no such need.

Whatever they want to call what happened last night—a kiss, a moment of passion, a stupid decision, the result of too much wine— he doesn’t regret for a moment. It’s not as though he’s dying for a repeat experience, but he surprises himself by smiling at the memory. At the very least, Luciel couldn’t tease him in the chatroom without incriminating himself. A small victory.

And, honestly, Luciel’s not the worst when it comes to making assumptions about Jumin’s love life.  He’s harmless and only does it because he thinks it’s funny, so Jumin can forgive him. No, it’s the tabloids and celebrity articles that bother him the most. He’s not embarrassed at the experiences or lack of experiences others presume he’s had, nor is he embarrassed by the genders he’s presumed to have had relations with. It’s all superficial. What common people busy themselves with to distract themselves from the ways in which their own lives are lacking. Jumin is perfectly happy with the way things are, with Elizabeth the 3rd by his side, and if anyone had ever bothered to get to know him they would know this and cease bothering him with these pointless questions. The articles with bold headlines speculating which woman has caught his eye, or if women are his type at all, only serve as harsh reminders that there are only two beings left on this Earth that care to understand him wholeheartedly. And only one of them remains by his side. The other… travels. He’s always distant.

The buzz of the office comforts him. Pushes down bubbling thoughts that aren’t worth dwelling on. It seems especially lively today, for which he is relieved. He could use any and all distractions at his disposal. He feels as though his mind isn’t busy enough.

“Assistant Kang,” he greets Jaehee rather flatly as he enters the office. She stands to greet him, bowing slightly. “Please ensure that you have all of the materials ready for our 1:30 meeting. I’d like to move forward with this project as quickly as possible.”

“Actually, Mr. Han,” Jaehee stops him. “We’ll have to reschedule your 1:30 meeting. Tomorrow looks like the earliest we’ll be able to squeeze it in. Your father called.”

“What about?” Jumin inquires, raising an eyebrow.

“He wants to have lunch, actually,” Jaehee says evenly. They’ve only worked together for a little over two years—a record in terms of how long Jumin had retained a personal assistant— but that was plenty of time for Jumin to figure out as much about his assistant as he was ever likely to. He gained the sense that Assistant Kang was rather pleased that his father had conveniently forced her to push back the meeting on a cat related project. She had an insane distaste for cats and anything to do with them—even if the project was humanitarian, she made her disapproval known in the chatroom. He at least had to commend her for the way that she was able to contain her personal feelings in a professional environment. To anyone else, she would have appeared unaffected by the setback in his cat proposal. It was just one of the many reasons that she was invaluable as his personal assistant.

“We had lunch before I left on my last trip. Why is he wanting to meet again so soon?” Jumin wondered aloud, not entirely expecting an answer, but not at all surprised when Assistant Kang supplies one.

“He wants to propose a new project for you.”

“Something inspired by one of his women, I’m sure,” Jumin sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s not sure why his father insists on involving Jumin in his personal affairs. Jumin has been a good son, kept silent about the many women his father has dragged home, and worked diligently. Any project that his father’s trophy wives and gold digging girlfriends wanted him to undertake for their benefit was handled solely by his father’s department.

“Very well. Push back the 1:30 meeting to tomorrow morning,” he turns to continue his trek towards his office. Social conventions be damned—he didn’t care if it was eight in the morning, he needed a glass of wine. Badly.

“Mr. Han,” Assistant Kang’s voice halted him. “There’s something else,” she spoke slowly. “I know it’s not really my place to involve myself in your personal affairs, but something has happened that will affect the company… and I’m sure it’s related to the reason your father wants to meet with you.”

“Tell me.”

“I know you’re not in the habit of addressing tabloid rumors, but I’ve had several inquiries about a recently published article detailing your engagement,” Jaehee speaks as though she hates every word coming from her mouth. She can barely look into Jumin’s eyes.

“Ignore it,” Jumin says, turning to leave once more.

“That was my first instinct as well, but the article comes from a reputable source… and your father gave an interview,” she bites her lip. “I know there’s not much you can do about it at this point, but,” she sighs, “Well, God help me, I figured you should know about it before lunch.”

“Thank you for your concern, Assistant Kang,” Jumin says, itching for that glass of wine even more. “I will address the issue with my father at our lunch. I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding. Please don’t fall behind on the winery reports.”

If Assistant Kang calls for him again, he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until he’s closed his office door and sat in his chair. He rummages through his desk, retrieving an almost empty bottle of wine, finding a glass, and pouring himself a drink. He takes a sip, turning to look out the window.

This wouldn’t be the first time his father has proposed a marriage for him. He supposes it’s only natural for a parent to hope for their child to marry and produce progeny, but the way his father goes about it is so nonsensical. From what he’s observed, most parents wish for their children to marry based on _love_. Love is certainly not a requirement for his father. In fact, he treats marriage more like a business proposal—at least as far as Jumin’s marriage is concerned. His father’s marriages and relationships and flings and one night stands are all based on lust—naturally love was never in the equation in his father’s relationships either. Not that he doubts his father has ever loved some of the women in his life. He has a rather boyish fantasy that, despite his father’s assurances, there was some semblance of love in his father’s marriage to his mother.

No, Jumin’s marriages were all arranged to benefit the company or to better his father’s standing with his current girlfriend. The latter was worse. Jumin was more than willing to sacrifice for the company and, while he didn’t care much for the idea of marriage, if it was an absolute necessity he would willingly accept a marriage for business benefits. However, rather than letting Jumin select the candidates or even approve of them, his father handled all the applications himself. His father wasn’t satisfied with his own love life, as awful as it was, he now felt he had to stick his hand in Jumin’s.

On broaching the subject of marriage before, Jumin felt he had made it perfectly clear to his father that he was not interested in a relationship. He failed to mention, however, that watching his father’s relationships throughout his young life had largely influenced that decision. He does not want to be used. He dedicates himself to working hard for the company. He works well, consistently shows profits across the board, and holds himself to a higher standard than his highest-ranking employees. C&R is not suffering financially, in fact its stronger than ever, so a business marriage seems rather preposterous.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, an idea popping into his head. Usually, he’s more tactful about stopping his father’s hand, but he’s feeling particularly spiteful today. His idea is lazier than most, even worse is the fact that it’s not an entirely _logical_ idea, but at the very least there’s a low percentage it will come back to haunt him. He’s never had a rebellious phase, this moment marks the most rebellious thing he’s ever done, and he feels rather giddy. It’s stupid—he feels like a child. He’s certainly acting like one, and shouldn’t be deriving any pleasure from his behavior, but he can’t help himself. His fingers work of their own accord—dialing a number he very rarely calls. The line rings once. Twice. Three times turns into five times and he’s about to hang up before being sent to voicemail, when finally, his call is answered.

“Not everyone wakes up at the crack of dawn,” a groggy voice replies. It’s not a greeting, but it will do. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to collect a debt,” Jumin says, trying to keep his voice even.

“A debt? Wait, who is this?” He hears the phone on the other end being fumbled with and then, “Since when do I owe you a debt, Mr. Director?”

“You didn’t honestly think my hospitality was going to come without a price, did you, Luciel?”

“O-of course not,” Luciel stammers, “What can I do for you? I’m not at home yet so I don’t have any of my equipment with me, but if you just give me the details I can make a note—”

“—It’s nothing like that,” Jumin interrupts. “I need you to help me pull off a… what do you call them? A prank?”

“…who are you and what have you done with Jumin Han?” Luciel sounds amused. At least Jumin isn’t have a difficult time convincing him to go along with his plan. “Are you serious?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Jumin scoffs, “When am I ever not serious?”

“Okay, well what do you want me to do? Who are we pranking? Is it Zen?”

“It’s my father,” Jumin says, “but its… more of a long term prank.”

“We’re pranking the Senior Director… woah,” Luciel sounds excited. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to accompany me to a luncheon. It’s at 1:30 and I need you at my office by 1:15 so that Driver Kim has ample time to get us there. If we’re lucky, my father will be there ahead of us and we’ll have the element of surprise.”

“We’re just eating lunch?” Luciel questions.

“Yes. I need you to accompany me and go along with whatever I say. Can you do this for me?”

“Are you sure this is a prank? It just sounds like you’re worried I’m going to eat Honey Buddah Chips the second I get home. A prank usually means you play a trick on someone, hyung!”

“It is a trick,” Jumin protests, “It’s cleverly deceitful.”

“How?”

“When I say you’re accompanying me to my luncheon, I mean that I need you to pose as my _date._ I’m afraid that my father will attempt to push me into a business marriage at this luncheon. You come with me, convince him we’re together, and we’ll get him to drop this mess. As an added bonus, I’ll allow you to use my penthouse as a safe house and visit Elizabeth… under my strict supervision.”

“I’m in,” Luciel agrees immediately, barely letting Jumin finish his sentence. “I must say, I didn’t think you had a knack for pranks, Mr. Trust Fund Kid. Color me impressed!” Jumin feels a smile growing on his lips.

“Dress nicely. If you’re still in the penthouse, help yourself to any of the clothing you find in the closets. I’ll see you at 1:15, Luciel.”

He hangs up, pleased. He thinks for a brief moment that, maybe, throwing in the unlimited penthouse visits as well as extra access to Elizabeth was a bit unnecessary. Then again, if he needed Luciel’s services repeatedly, it was only fair. Luciel’s role in this prank was just another job. By a weird extension, that makes him Jumin’s employee. Compensation for the job is difficult as a paper trail makes the validity of their relationship questionable. And enjoying Elizabeth the 3rd’s company is honestly worth more than any salary. Luciel’s frequent visits to the penthouse would make everything seem more believeable. Yes, the compensation he’d unintentionally offered Luciel seemed to be an example of one of the many ways in which he was quick on his feet. There were no subconscious desires motivating the offer. This is a business deal. Luciel takes his jobs very seriously, as does Jumin. Emotions would not get in the way. They would both be logical about this and his father would be none the wiser.

He turns back to his desk, flipping through the proposals and research documents on his desk. 1:15 seems an eternity away.

For some unknown reason, his lips burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'mmmm probably gonna post another update tonight bc I'm getting into it now HOO BOY  
> ((also i'm not lying when i say this fic is literally gonna be a self-indulgent pile of my fave tropes so prepare urselves))


	4. Chapter 4

Seven’s never been chauffeured anywhere in his life. Apparently the Trust Fund Kid had given orders to Driver Kim to ensure that Seven arrived at the C&R building exactly when he’d promised. Seven didn’t mind—he’s never had a reputation for being overly punctual. It’s nice, being doted on like this. He feels a little weird not sitting behind the wheel. He likes having control, especially when he’s in a car. Jumin’s limo is nowhere near as flashy as any of his babies, which is a shame. He’d have to treat Jumin to true luxury… maybe take him for a drive. Just to gloat, of course, not for the pleasure of his company.

He fidgets with his wig’s bangs, not sure why he feels so nervous. This was, essentially, just like a field mission. Except he wouldn’t be hacking. Or stealing information. Or listening to Vanderwood yell at him. Or getting shot at. All of which were pluses, really! Instead, he was going to eat a fancy lunch. For free. With the Senior Director. And Jumin. If he can believe anything Jumin says in the chatroom, the world of the social elite can be just as dangerous. Vicious. Seven bites his nails. If he just follows Jumin’s lead nothing can go wrong right? God, at least hacking missions are straightforward. The people shooting at you are the bad guys and you just follow the instructions you’ve been sent. Easy peasy. Here, he wasn’t sure what he was going to have to do. Though, surely Trust Fund Kid is aware of the fact that the only formal etiquette Seven is aware of are basic things like don’t burp and keep your pinky up or whatever. Or is the pinky up thing too outdated?

“Do I look alright?” He finds himself leaning forward, sticking his head through the partition to talk with Driver Kim. The elderly driver glances at him through the rearview mirror and chuckles.

“You look lovely,” he chuckles. “It’s not my place to say, but for future reference, Mr. Han’s favorite colors are purple and blue.”

“Should I have picked a blue dress instead?” Seven panics.

“Not at all,” Driver Kim reassures him. “You’re ravishing! I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. My apologies, miss. Mr. Han will be lucky to have you on his arm this afternoon.”

“Oh, you can call me… Mary,” Seven says after a pause. “I’m not really one for formalities.” This earns a laugh from Driver Kim.

“Mr. Han has managed to fall for a girl with no taste for formalities,” he chuckles, “Love works in mysterious ways.”

Seven’s face flushes. Love? Hah. If only Driver Kim knew… if anything its nepotism. Though, it isn’t as though Jumin gave him the job because he particularly cares for him. Seven just has a very specific skill set and this particular job manages to hit two of the big three (pranks and assuming fake identities). He can’t say Jumin has made a bad decision. And he is glad for the free lunch!

“What’s he like as a boss?” Seven asks.

“Mr. Han?” Driver Kim asks. Seven nods. The elderly man is quiet for a moment, thinking about his words.

“You can bad-talk him,” Seven laughs. “I’m not like him, I’m cool, so you won’t get in trouble for speaking your mind.” Driver Kim laughs again.

“It’s nothing like that,” he says, grinning, “Mr. Han is actually a good boss. I know he doesn’t seem it, but he’s good to me. I’ve been driving him around since he was young. I enjoy driving him places. We don’t talk like this much though,” Driver Kim laughs again. This man is a saint. He even thinks highly of Jumin? If Seven were in charge of payroll, this man would get an immediate raise. “Occasionally he’ll ask me strange questions. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

“Like what?”

“Mostly about food or my lifestyle,” Driver Kim shrugs. “You know, he had to ask me what ddeokbokki was,” Kim laughs again. Seven’s jaw hangs open in shock, earning another laugh.

“Is he even Korean? Is he even a human?” Seven wonders aloud. “He doesn’t know ddeokbokki, he doesn’t know fried chicken and beer…”

“Mr. Han is strange,” Driver Kim smiles, “but it’s always a pleasure to work for him. Ah, we’ve arrived, Miss Mary.” He exits the car, opening the passenger door for Seven. “I’ll wait here while you go and fetch Mr. Han. His office is on the sixteenth floor.”

“You’re sure I look alright?” Seven uses the rearview mirror to adjust his wig and double-check his makeup. He bites his lip. Driver Kim offers a hand and helps Seven out of the car.

“You’re beautiful Miss Mary,” he says, with a small polite bow. “No need to be nervous. Take your time, I’ll be here.” He squeezes Seven’s arm as a sign of encouragement, waiting outside the car until Seven enters the building.

It’s _huge_. He’s not sure what he expected—of course Jumin’s building is large and extravagant. Everything is. He almost feels worried he’ll get lost, but the elevators are close to the main entrance, so that makes things easy. The place isn’t as crowded as he would have imagined—probably because its lunch break? Most employees are probably in the cafeteria or something. He wonders what the cafeteria food here is like… probably better than most places. But, then again, it probably lacks things like PhD. Pepper, so he really has no interest. Even if you’re fancy, you can still serve garbage.

He shares the elevator with a shy looking employee who stares at the floor for the entire ride. Seven politely bids her goodbye when he gets off at the sixteenth floor and she blushes.

If it weren’t for labelled doors, Seven was convinced he would have spent the next hour and a half trying to find Jumin’s office. Were so many doors necessary? He knocks on the door, cracking it open without waiting for a response. Jaehee is sitting at a desk near the door, a triangle kimbap hanging out her mouth as she furiously scribbles away on some notes. Her eyes snap up upon hearing the door open, and she pulls her food out of her mouth. She gives Seven a surprised look.

“Can I help you, Miss…” She cocks her head to the side, scrutinizing Seven from head to toe. “S-Seven?”

“I have an appointment with Mr. Han,” he grins, closing the door behind him. “And its Mary, actually.”

“What are you doing?” Jaehee stands, but makes no movement towards him. “Zen may be naïve enough not to recognize you, but Mr. Han won’t fall for it. He’ll be very cross you came all this way just to annoy him at the office. Besides, he’s headed out to lunch with his father soo—oh! He needs to leave immediately or he’ll be late.” Jaehee moves towards Jumin’s office door.

“No, I’m serious!” Seven can’t help but laugh a bit. “I really do have an appointment with him.”

Before Jaehee has a chance to remind Jumin—in her kind but firm way—that he really must leave for lunch, the door to Jumin’s office opens on its own. Jumin exits, his suit jacket half on and his eyes on his phone. He doesn’t bother looking up.

“Assistant Kang, has Luciel come? I’m expecting to meet him before I go to lunch with my father.”

“He’s… here, Mr. Han,” Jaehee responds, her voice incredulous. Seven throws her a wink. He secretly hopes that this prank won’t create more work for Jaehee, but he feels like that’s impossible. Their fates are tied to ever growing mountains of work. At the very least he can sympathize.

Jumin looks up from his phone, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Jumin is a minimalist—no expressions, no emotions, no words other than what is necessary. Some people like that kind of thing. It annoys Seven. He has to work harder to read the Trust Fund Kid. Is he impressed? Angry? Seven’s only two minutes late, but with someone like Jumin punctuality is surely everything. Is his lipstick too dark maybe? Or, shit, what if he’s underdressed? There’s no time to fix his mistakes if that’s the case.

“Turn,” Jumin commands softly. Seven complies, doing a full turn, throwing in a cheesy curtesy. “This will do,” Jumin hums. “I’ll notify you when I’m returning to the office Assistant Kang. Text me if you need anything.” He grabs Seven’s wrist and leads the two of them out of his office and back towards the elevator.

“You could have just come as yourself,” Jumin remarks as they wait for the elevator to reach them. “It would have been just as shocking.”

“I can’t be in the spotlight, remember?” Seven smiles, “Fake identities are my only security. And besides, this prank is all about you. It’s your genius plan!”

“It is a rather genius plan, isn’t it,” Jumin smiles to himself. “I admire your dedication. Clearly I hired the right man for the job.”

“I won’t let you down, sir!” Seven salutes, earning a scoff from Jumin, but he feels giddy. He’s really doing this! He gets to prank someone as important as the Senior Director and Jumin isn’t even going to yell at him about it. If someone had told him a week ago that the Trust Fund Kid would mastermind a prank and ask the oh so versatile Seven Zero Seven to help him pull it off, he’d have laughed himself into a coma. This all feels so surreal. He’s never been so excited to be with Jumin before.

“You’d better not,” Jumin says, his voice is serious but he’s offering a hand to Seven. He looks at it questioningly before high-fiving it. A high-five? When did Jumin get so corny?

“No, hold it, idiot,” he says, grabbing Seven’s hand in his own and interlacing their fingers. “The role starts now.”

A familiar warmth crawls up Seven’s arm and settles in his chest. Jumin’s hands are cool, but Seven feels as hot as he had the night before when they’d kissed. He feels dumb for even thinking about it, but his brain isn’t listening to him and replaying the sensations over and over again. Instead he focuses on the way Jumin’s hand feels in his own. Seven can’t remember the last time he’s held someone’s hand. It’s been ages. But… it feels nice.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Han,” Driver Kim greets as the two of them reach the car. He opens the door for them, and Jumin allows Seven to slide into the seat first, following behind. Once they’re in the limo, behind the privacy of the partition, Jumin releases Seven’s hand. As much as he hates to admit it, he kind of misses it. Jumin’s evoking all of these desires Seven doesn’t remember having. Of course, he’s lived his whole life starved for human affection, so it only makes sense that he craves it. Hell, he’d probably feel just as happy holding Jaehee’s hand. So, at least, one of the perks of this job was that he’d get to fill his affection quotas as well—and it was safe. It was fake. There were no real attachments, no strings, no lives on the line. It was business and pleasure, but all rolled up in a safety blanket.

“Just follow my lead,” Jumin instructs him as the car slows. “How’s your etiquette?”

“Uh, bad,” Seven says, matter-of-factly. There’s no point in sugar coating it.

“I’m sure you’ll pick up the basics quickly,” Jumin sighs, “If we’re lucky, my father will be so shocked by your presence that he won’t notice your manners. Oh, and before I forget,” Jumin rummages in a compartment on the side of his door, producing a pair of sunglasses and handing them to Seven, “You’ll want to wear these, just in case there’s paparazzi about.”

“I’m already in a disguise,” Seven says, taking the sunglasses anyway. “It doesn’t matter much if they photograph me.”

“Precisely. The sunglasses are there to draw extra attention. My father has already used the media to his advantage, now it’s our turn to strike back.”

“A much-sought after bachelor arrives for lunch with a mysterious, glamorous babe in glasses,” Seven mocks the title of a headline in a singsong voice while slipping on the glasses. They feel large, but somehow they make him feel a little more secure. A little less naked. They give him an extra layer to hide behind. Shame he can’t keep them on forever.

“How do I look?” he asks, puckering his lips. Jumin rolls his eyes, but grabs Seven’s hand. Driver Kim opens the door for them and Jumin helps Seven out of the car. Rather than holding hands, Jumin wraps his arm around Seven’s waist. Seven is hyper aware of all of the places they’re making contact. He feels each of Jumin’s fingers through the fabric of his dress, he feels warmth emanating from Jumin’s arm, and he feels a blush creeping onto his cheeks. Its nerves, of course. It’s go time and he’s walking into a mission blind. It’s all touch and go. Of course extra touching would leave him flustered. But he’s not about to lose at that game. Sure, this whole plot might be Jumin’s idea, but that didn’t mean Seven couldn’t fluster him as well. Cue a sneak attack! He leans into Mr. Chairman-to-be, resting his head against Jumin’s shoulder.

“Don’t overdo it,” Jumin warns, but Seven just laughs.

“Appearances are everything, darling!” He didn’t even have to look up at Jumin to know his plan had worked. This meaningless game was proving to be rather fun!

He removes his sunglasses once they enter the restaurant, drinking in the extravagant scenery. He couldn’t even afford to be looking around in a place like this. There are chandeliers and a deep red carpet, long windows that give a beautiful view of the Seoul skyline, soft strings providing background music, and soft chatter and the clinking of utensils and glasses topping it all off. It looks like a restaurant out of a dream.

Mr. Han Sr. is waiting for them at a table right next to the window. He looks something like a comic book villain. He has a kindly face and Jumin has clearly inherited his father’s grey eyes, but the way he sits, the way his hands are perched on the table expectantly seems a little menacing. This is the villain Seven Zero Seven has to defeat with his charm! Known facts: 1) he has a weakness for women and 2) he loves his son. The rest Seven is just going to have to feel out through conversation. Luckily though, he’s mastered feminine charm.

“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting long, father,” Jumin says, greeting his father as they approach the table. Mr. Han Sr. stands and shakes his son’s hand… not even a hug? Gah, no wonder Jumin was so awkward. It must be inherited!

“You’re right on time, Jumin,” his father smiles. He turns his attention to Seven, glancing over him up and down. “I didn’t realize you were bringing company. I’m caught unawares,” he laughs, offering his hand to Seven. “My apologies, Miss..?” Seven accepts the man’s hand, and Mr. Han Sr. clasps it gently.

“Mary,” Seven replies.

“Mary?” Mr. Han Sr. prompts him to go on. Shit. He hadn’t thought of a last name. Driver Kim let him get by with just Mary. He needed something that sounded elegant. Powerful. Strong. Were this a field mission his ears would be filled with endless scolding about not coming up with a complete cover before going out into the field…

“Vanderwood,” he says, supplying the first name that comes to mind. Hah, Vanderwood would get a kick out of this. “Mary Vanderwood the 3rd.” He tacks on an extra bit of elegance, thinking of Elly.

“Mary Vanderwood the 3rd,” Mr. Han Sr. repeats. He smiles, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He brings Seven’s hand up to his mouth and gently kisses his knuckles. “Have a seat won’t you?”

The three of them sit, Seven scooting his chair a little closer to Jumin than he needs to. Jumin doesn’t seem to mind, holding Seven’s hand and resting it in his lap.

“I hope you can forgive me for inviting an unexpected guest as well,” Mr. Han Sr. smiles, addressing Jumin once more. “You’ve only just missed her. She’ll be back shortly, I’m sure.” He flags down a waiter. “We’ve already ordered, so why don’t the two of you go ahead.”

The waiter hands them menus. The list is short, but it’s all gibberish to Seven. He doesn’t know what half the stuff on here is, let alone how to pronounce it. They’re really not about simplicity in elegant places. He tries finding the shortest name on the menu and working out how it should be pronounced, but its French or something, and he’s not sure which sounds he should pronounce or leave out and the more he practices it in his head, the less appetizing it sounds. He hands Jumin his menu, screaming at him with his eyes and hoping that he gets the message.

Jumin smirks, handing both menus to the waiter and ordering… something. Seven prays its good. Please, God, let it follow the law of Sweet and Salty. Or at least the law of Edible. He doesn’t know how fancy food tastes, his mouth has only ever been blessed with commoner food and the tantalizing flavors of Honey Buddah Chips and he’s never wanted anything else. Come to think of it, Jumin doesn’t really know his tastes, so he could potentially be taking a big gamble here. Ah, but a little risk never hurt anything! What is a mission without danger!

“Ah, you’re back!” Mr. Han Sr.’s voice pulls Seven from his prayers. A young, dark haired girl has joined them at the table. She looks headstrong, confident, and she’s not afraid to show her slight disdain for Seven’s presence at the table. Maybe her expression came and went too quickly for Jumin to read, but Seven notes it. So there are two villains to defeat in this scheme! He’s at a disadvantage with this woman because he knows absolutely nothing about her.

“Jumin, Miss Vanderwood, allow me to introduce Jihae Park. She’s the director of Teletek Virtual, a fast growing little company that’s hit the blip on my radar,” Mr. Han Sr. smiles. Jumin coughs into his wine but Seven doubts anyone else notices it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet with you,” Jumin says, kissing her hand, mirroring the same politeness Mr. Han Sr. had showed Seven only moments before.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Jihae flashes a dazzling smile, “I’ve heard so much about you. All good things of course,” she laughs. She’s the kind of girl that would be easy to hate. She seems so sweet and kind, like she has everything, and even though something about her feels sinister you have no evidence so you have to hate her in silence. One of those people.

“I assume, then, that my father has proposed a merger or a joint project?” Jumin asks. The waiter has returned, and promptly on time. Seven can smell Business Talk from a mile away and he’s sure everyone else at the table will be engaged in boring business jargon for the next hour or so. His presence in the conversation won’t be missed, so he can focus instead on the food placed in front of him. It looks like a fancy steak and it smells heavenly. He reaches for a fork, but notices no one at the table has touched their food yet, so he hesitates. There’s probably some dumb rule about which fork to use and he’s obviously not savvy in regards to these things. He can’t blow things this early. He tunes back into the conversation.

“—I’m interested of course. My father is an incredibly savvy businessman and I trust his judgement,” Jumin smiles coolly.

“Ah, but let’s eat a bit first,” Jihae suggests with a laugh, “It would be boring to waste the afternoon on business talk alone. Especially since your guest looks a little bored.” She offers a smile to Seven.

“I’m rather curious as to how the two of you met,” Mr. Han Sr. picks up his fork—Seven observes that it’s a large fork… does that mean he can use his large fork? “And why I’ve never heard of Miss Vanderwood before.” Seven picks up his big fork and pairs it with his knife, slowly cutting into the steak. It comes apart fairly easily, and his mouth waters as he brings the bite up to his lips.

“Mary’s better at telling the story than I am,” Jumin coughs, “She’s a bit of a romantic.”

“Oh,” Seven laughs, holding back a glare and putting down his forkful of steak. “Well, we met at a, uh, charity benefit.” It’s not entirely a lie. The first time they’d met in person was at an RFA party. It was anything but romantic… in fact Seven was almost sure they exchanged less than thirty words between the two of them. They’d fumbled into a friendship or whatever the hell their relationship was currently over the messenger app and the next few years’ worth of parties. And well, now look at them.

“Jumin has an incredibly sensitive side,” Seven giggles girlishly, remembering he has to pretend to be in love. Its awkward—he’s not really sure what love feels like, so all he has to go off of for reference are the few dramas and rom coms he’s seen in his life. Girls in love like to laugh a lot and initiate physical contact and play with their hair. Should he be playing with his hair more?

“What did you say you did for a living, Miss Vanderwood?” Jihae asks, calmly sipping her champagne.

“Security—”

“Computer engineering—”

Ah, a classic mistake. He and Jumin answer at the same time, which would have been fine if they had answered the same. But, of course, they did not. He can feel Jumin tense up beside him. Ouch! Jihae and Mr. Han Sr. look only slightly surprised.

“I engineer security software,” Seven smooths over their mistake with a charming smile.

“And the two of you are close?” Jihae prods for answers, leaning forward. Gah, it’s almost as if she can smell the deceit!

“Mary is my girlfriend,” Jumin says confidently. He takes Seven’s hand in his and brings it up to his lips. So suave. Seven never anticipated that Jumin would be a good actor, but it makes sense. As a businessman, charisma is one of the most important traits to possess. Seven glances over as Jumin and their eyes meet. He feels hot all of a sudden.

“Well, this is awkward,” Jihae laughs. “Mr. Han and I were under the impression that you were single.”

“I assure you, I’m not.”

“The business proposal still stands of course,” Jihae smiles graciously, “But, Mr. Han,” she turns to face Jumin’s father, “I suppose we’ll have to change it around a bit.”

“Jumin,” Mr. Han Sr. speaks slowly, “How serious is… this?” He gestures vaguely to the two of them. Jumin has not let go of Seven’s hand and instead tightens his grip.  Seven feels his heart pounding in his chest. He’s too in character! It’s as though he really is a poor woman who’s relationship with Seoul’s most eligible bachelor is on the chopping block! Of course, he has to sell it, so he lets his anxiety spread into his expression.

“Very,” Jumin says, his voice steady. “And before you continue, father, I would ask if this is truly a conversation that you wish to have in front of the ladies.”

“Of course not, of course not,” Mr. Han Sr. says, laughing a bit nervously. “I just want to make sure you’re serious. Relationships are not easy things. They have to be entered into with care.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Jumin seems incredibly serious. His voice is soft. Is he angry? Seven’s always pictured him as a quiet rager—not one to yell or throw things, but instead to speak softly or not at all. His expression kind of always looks angry, but his eyebrows are angled down a little more than normal. Woah, he’s really present for a fight between the Hans!

“I don’t mean to meddle, of course. Relationships are a big decision and Miss Vanderwood seems like a lovely girl. I just wonder how it is that you benefit from—”

Without a word, Jumin releases Seven’s hand, instead placing his hands gently on Seven’s neck, pulling their faces closer. Seven freezes up as Jumin brings their lips together. And just like that, they’re kissing. For the second time in twenty-four hours. Of course, Seven can’t be too surprised. It was implicit in the job description of “date” but he didn’t think it would be happening so soon. Still, it feels nice, better than the rushed kiss last night. It’s deliberate. Planned. Well, more planned. He has time to really concentrate on the softness of Jumin’s lips, the weight of his hands pressed on Seven’s neck, the heat that’s settling in his chest and making his heart pound. He could get used to this.

But the kiss is over all too soon. Seven’s face feels hot again and he has difficulty looking anyone in the eyes. Suddenly the pattern on the tablecloth becomes intriguing. The linens are very white and there’s faint fleur-de-lis like patterns traced across it…

“—I love her,” Jumin says with a finality. “That’s how I benefit.” Jumin is acting and he’s doing a damn good job because Seven’s heart stops.

“I’ve got a full afternoon schedule and very little time to continue this conversation. If you wish to discuss it further, I’ll have Assistant Kang schedule something,” he pauses. “I apologize that you were dragged out here under false pretenses, Ms. Park. I pray that our business ventures will still be successful. Please, excuse us.” Jumin grabs Seven’s wrist and pulls him away from the dining table, leading him out of the restaurant.

“I apologize for the kiss,” he says, wrapping his arm around Seven’s waist as they wait for Driver Kim to pull around. “I had to think on my feet.”

“No need to apologize,” Seven is still reeling. He… likes kissing. He likes being swept up in the moment of passion and just kissing someone. He likes the way it feels when Jumin holds him and kisses him softly. He shouldn’t like it and he knows this, but it doesn’t matter much. Kissing is part of the job, so it’s really only an added bonus that it feels so nice, right? Plus, once he kisses Jumin enough, he’s sure he’ll get bored of it. New things are always fascinating, especially to someone so starved of human touch. It’s pathetic, but it will pass. The whole arrangement is beneficial—Jumin gets his fake girlfriend, Seven gets to satisfy his needs for affection. Soon, there will be no need for Jumin to have a fake girlfriend and no need for Seven to feel so starved. It’s still safe. It will always be safe. So, just this once, he can dwell on how much he likes kissing Jumin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER GOT AWAY FROM ME WHOOPS~!  
> ((also- p.s. i would like to thank everyone for the comments and kudos so far i'm lov u and we're all in this together, kids!!!))


	5. Chapter 5

“He’s angry to say the least,” Assistant Kang sighs, “He hasn’t take any of my calls since this afternoon.”

“Let him be angry. I’ll call him in the morning.”

“Are you… alright, Mr. Han?” she asks, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Jumin feels the urge to vomit. He doesn’t want to become a creature of pity. Family feuds happen and he’s not going to be a child about it.

“I’m fine,” he says evenly, “I’m feeling a bit off, but I’m sure its nothing some rest can’t remedy. I suppose I should thank you for your little heads up about my luncheon today.”

“You don’t have to thank me Mr. Han.”

“Yes, well. Thank you all the same. It’s late. I’ll see you in the morning. Have a good evening.” He hangs his phone up as Driver Kim pulls up to the penthouse. He feels tired. It will be nice to see Elizabeth. To drink a glass of wine and forget his father for a while.

Driver Kim opens his door.

“Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Han,” he says, bowing slightly as Jumin exits the car.

“You as well,” Jumin says, turning to walk up his driveway.

He’s not sure why this particular argument with his father is bothering him this much. They’ve fought about this subject before. It’s an old argument, tired and beaten, yet they both insist on hashing it out every few months. Like its habit. Like its part of their relationship. Jumin respects his father—he always has—but his father has always kept at a distance. He doesn’t quite understand his own son. They’ve got the formalities down—the gift giving, the working well together, the support, the vacations and lunches and meetings—but they’ve never once talked about feelings. Likely because his father doesn’t know how to deal with emotions and Jumin likes to pretend that emotions don’t exist. But how did they get to this point?

Jumin stands in his kitchen, his hands fumbling for his phone. His fingers dial the only number his brain can think of right at that moment. It’s stupid—he knows it. The likelihood that V will answer his call is slim to none. It’s been a little over a month since the two of them have talked. But Jumin longs for that connection. For V’s quiet presence and silent understanding. When they were children, they would sneak to the roof of V’s house and talk for hours. Were it not for V’s gentle coaxing, Jumin isn’t sure how he would have made it through his parents’ divorce. He was angry, he didn’t even know he was angry, and he was sad. But V could see it all. He didn’t have to ask Jumin direct questions, yet Jumin would tell vague details, which turned into hour long stories, and V was there to listen to it all.

There’s no connection—the line doesn’t even get a chance to ring. Jumin laughs darkly, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He grabs a wine glass and heads up to his office to grab a bottle.

A strange smell greets him as he walks to the office. Something fried? It’s a strange smell, something he’s never smelled before. He forgets about the bottle of wine, following his nose, and ending up in his bedroom. The door is already cracked open. His room is exactly how he’s left it, save for two new additions. Luciel is curled up on his mattress in his regular attire. No wig, no makeup, no heels. He looks peaceful. His glasses are pushed at an awkward angle against his face, his short red hair jutting in a hundred different directions. His hand is resting on Elizabeth the 3rd, who is curled up on his chest, purring contentedly.

He feels some sense of relief to see Luciel in his home. It’s uncharacteristic of him. Perhaps he’s glad of the company, especially since he hasn’t been able to reach V. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit there was something charming about a sleeping Luciel. There’s something about his expression that makes Jumin want to kiss him again… of course, that wouldn’t be proper. It’s late—almost two in the morning—and he can’t help but wonder if Luciel fell asleep waiting for him. It’s strange, having someone wait up for you. It’s a foreign experience but Jumin thinks he likes knowing that Luciel was waiting for him.  A smile spreads on his face. Whatever the reason Luciel was waiting for him, he wants this moment to stretch out for an eternity. Luciel can’t stay forever, their arrangement isn’t set up that way. It can’t be.

Jumin pulls his phone from his pocket again, quickly snapping a picture and ignoring the flush on his face. The memory can last forever and at the very least, he’d like to be able to call on it again, should he ever need it.

He nudges Luciel’s foot with his own, gently kicking him awake.

“Jumin,” Luciel exclaims, bolting upright. Elizabeth is disgruntled, jumping off his chest and trotting to a different room. “Sorry, Elly,” he whines, calling after her.

“You’re here late,” Jumin says, loosening his tie and sitting next to Luciel on the bed. “Trouble with work again?”

“No, work is fine,” Luciel stretches, “I just thought I’d bring you something.” He reaches for a folded cardboard box resting on Jumin’s nightstand. “You didn’t get to eat much at lunch and I figured you probably didn’t have much time for dinner either, so, I brought this,” he smiles.

So this is the source of the smell.

“It’s commoner food, but its better than nothing! Oh, and,” he leans over, sliding a black plastic bag out from under the bed, “I’ve selected an excellent vintage to pair with our meal,” he says in a pseudo-fancy accent.

Jumin is speechless. Unsure of how to feel. Unsure if he _wants_ to feel. His heart is pounding and he’s almost sure he doesn’t have any choice _but_ to feel. Luciel’s eyes are bright and his smile reaches the corners of his eyes. He’s genuine. He’s not offering a gift because he wants anything in return. This isn’t like the meetings Jumin sits through day in and day out where gift giving and concern for other parties are formalities. Luciel doesn’t have ulterior motives, he doesn’t say he’s concerned because its part of a social script. He means it and Jumin knows he does. The air feels heavy and Jumin’s heart feels like it’s in his throat. He doesn’t know how to push it down, how to ignore it.

“Would you… do me a favor?” he asks, slowly. His eyes are still studying Luciel’s face and his silly, lively expression.

“Sure, hyung,” Luciel’s expression falls a little, concerned at Jumin’s somber attitude. Jumin smiles again. He grabs Luciel’s wrist with one hand, picking up the black plastic bag with the other. Luciel clutches the cardboard box to his chest.

“Come with me,” he says, leading Luciel out of the room and towards the hall elevator. Jumin only really uses the first three floors in the penthouse, so the elevator remains largely unused. He forgets it exists sometimes.

“Holy shit, you have an elevator?” Luciel is in awe, “Where are we going in this thing?”

“You’ll see,” Jumin says, his heart racing. He hasn’t let go of Luciel’s wrist and he’s hoping that Luciel won’t notice. Jumin likes touching Luciel’s skin. It’s soft. There’s something comforting about it. Touching another human being is different from petting a cat, but it gives him similar feelings. Running his fingers through Elizabeth’s fur makes him feel less lonely—she’s there for him. She’ll listen, she’ll purr, she’ll always be there. Yet her quiet presence is entirely different from V’s… the comfort isn’t the same. And its worlds different than Luciel’s presence—a presence that he wouldn’t describe as silent in the first place. Luciel is loud, always commenting or laughing at something. Usually, Jumin finds this annoying. But now, it seems that its just another assurance that he’s there. Silence means the absence of presence. Holding Luciel’s wrist… it was another way to feel that he was there. That this moment was real. That for the first time in months—or years, really—someone was around for him. Waiting up for him. Annoying the hell out of him. Luciel is here and that means the world to Jumin right now.

When you’re wealthy, you can afford to invest in childhood passions. A rooftop patio isn’t common in penthouses as far as Jumin is aware, but he had one built. Had V and Rika been around longer than they were he’d likely have gotten more uses out of it. Maybe hosted a party on it. He’s graduated from sitting on the slanted roof of V’s childhood home to having a roof of his own—a roof that was made for sitting. It was nothing spectacular, but the evening view of the skyline was relaxing. It untangled the knots in his head and his chest as much as possible. Instead of all being gathered up into a tight little ball, they relaxed and were just messy strings that he knew he’d never bother untangling, but at least they weren’t strangling him anymore.

“Woah,” Luciel breathes. He excitedly explores the patio, getting right up to the edge and looking down, whistling at the height. Jumin sits on the ground, observing Luciel’s childish curiosity. The evening light suits him.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Luciel says, coming back to his senses and seating himself next to Jumin. “Dinner!” He opens the cardboard box. “Voila!”

“What the hell is this?” Jumin’s brows furrow. He’s never seen food like this before. It’s a bunch of… chunks and they’re a golden brown color. They smell heavenly, but he wouldn’t know how to go about consuming them. And there are no utensils.

“Fried chicken,” Luciel laughs. “I saw Zen teasing you in the messenger the other day since you’ve never tried it. It’s nothing like steak from a fancy five-star restaurant, but I think you’ll like it. And I know wine is more your speed but,” he reaches across Jumin to pick up the black plastic bag. He pulls out a can and hands it to Jumin. “I brought some beer too. They’re the perfect pair.”

“You forgot to bring utensils,” he scolds flatly.

“You… you eat it with your hands,” Luciel says, “God, you really haven’t ever heard of fried chicken have you? Try it,” he says, reaching into the box and pulling out a piece. He holds it in front of Jumin’s mouth, waving it a bit, encouraging him to take a bite. Hesitantly, Jumin leans forward and bites into the meat with his teeth. Its crunchy and soft… buttery… not what he was expecting. But good. Luciel reads his expression, smiling once he realizes that his meal selection is a hit. He surrenders the rest of the chicken piece to Jumin, their fingers brushing.

“I expected a fight with my father today,” Jumin blurts, “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“Ah, don’t be,” Luciel says, dismissing his apology with a wave of his hand and fishing for his own piece of chicken. “Everyone fights with their parents.”

“It feels odd to not have your own father understand you. I’ve been in his life for twenty-six years and you’d think he’d know everything there is to know about me. But some days, he feels more like my boss than my father.” He finishes his chicken, looking down at the can of beer. He opens it, taking a sip. Its bitter, but in a different way than wine. It feels heavier in his mouth and on his tongue. Foamier. He reaches for another piece of chicken.

“He thinks of me as an asset first, then as a son. I’m never a human first.”

“Yeah,” Luciel says softly. Jumin glances over at him. His expression is soft, but distracted. He can’t quite meet Jumin’s eyes.

“You can relate?” he asks.

“I shouldn’t really talk about it,” Luciel says brightly, “but… yeah. My parents were. Well, there’s a reason I left.”

“I feel guilty for being angry with my father,” Jumin speaks slowly, “I love him, but I guess I’ve been angry with him for a long time. I’ve never forgiven him for leaving my mother like he did. I can’t forgive him for adding salt to the wound with each new woman.” He takes another swig of beer. It tastes awful, but in the best of ways. “I feel… I feel like a child every time I’m angry. I’m the little boy I was when my parents announced their divorce. And that’s how my father sees me. I don’t think he finds me capable of understanding complex emotions. And perhaps I can’t. And I have to tell myself that my father can’t either, otherwise I’ll just get angry all over again.” He takes another drink. “I see the way my father is ruled by his emotions and I should be grateful that he never passed that weakness on to me. His neglect allowed me the invaluable skill of being able to kill emotions right when they start. They mean nothing to me. But when they inevitably creep into my life, I wish I knew what to do with them.”

“Sometimes we have to look at the damage that’s been done to us and accept that its not something forgiveness will mend,” Luciel speaks. The cheer in his voice is gone. His eyes are sad, but his gaze is fixed on Jumin. “We don’t have to forgive the people that break us.”

Jumin realizes in that moment that he hardly knows a thing about Luciel Choi. The redhead who’s been a constant presence in his life for the past several years. He’s a complete mystery. He’s chosen to be, he has to be, Jumin understands this. Getting close to people isn’t always a wise idea. Nurturing unnecessary relationships is a waste of time. For someone like Luciel, who’s life depends on secrecy and distance, things like close friends are a death sentence. And Jumin’s just spilled his guts to this enigma—told him things that he’d only ever talked to V and Rika about. Against his better judgement, and so quickly, he was letting Luciel in. And he wanted Luciel to let him in, too. With only a few sentences, Luciel had bared part of his soul to Jumin— and he was left with only further curiosity.

They sit in silence for a few moments. It’s a comfortable silence. There’s no rush to speak, no tension, just a moment where the two of them exist side by side. Jumin has the urge to reach out and touch Luciel somehow—to hold his hand, run his fingers through his hair, something. He’s not sure why, other than he thinks it will make him feel better.

“I… I want to do something,” Luciel says softly. “Tell me if you hate it, okay?”

Luciel moves towards him, closing the short distance between the two of them. He moves slowly, but his movements aren’t bashful. He stares into Jumin’s face, a hint of a smile on his lips, but his expression is otherwise unreadable. Jumin is aware of the ever shortening distance between their faces, his lips burning as they had earlier this morning. He feels the phantom of Luciel’s lips from the night before and from lunch. He remembers the initial stiffness from the shock, and the way Luciel seemed to melt into him, willingly going along with the kisses. Desperate for them.

Luciel’s lips brush softly against his, kissing him gently. It’s different from the kisses they’ve already shared. The first was an accident. Far too short, far too hungry. The kiss at lunch was something Jumin had contemplated from the moment his father’s mood turned sour. It felt nice, but it was more of a statement than anything else. This kiss is slow and soft. Jumin’s head is chaos and he can’t manage to concentrate on how nice Luciel’s lips feel. How badly he needs this.

He pulls Luciel by his hoodie, closing the distance between their bodies. Luciel swings his leg around Jumin, straddling his lap, continuing his gentle kisses. There’s no exchange of words, no moment to breathe, but the tension buried in Jumin’s stomach is slowly disappearing. As close as they are physically, Luciel feels more and more like a mystery. Distant. How is it that he knows exactly what Jumin needs?

He feels pressure on his shoulders—Luciel deepens their kisses, pushing Jumin down until his back is flat against the patio floor. Jumin dares to imagine things going further between the two of them—labored breaths punctuating the still silence of the evening, their discarded clothes in a pile in some remote corner of the patio, flushed skin pressing against skin…

But he realizes he’s content with this. Luciel breaks the kiss, looking down at Jumin, his glasses sliding down his nose. The kiss was oddly fulfilling. Relieving. Appropriate, given the sudden swell of emotions that had come from the two of them. But it wasn’t going to become habit. This one moment, this one night would be an exception. This kiss was different from the others because Jumin couldn’t manage to untangle his emotions from it. They went hand in hand. He was moved that Luciel had spent the day thinking of him, worrying over him. That he’d listened. Treated Jumin as a human, even when that was a dangerous thing for someone like Luciel to do. This moment was a one-time experience. A luxury that Jumin, with all his wealth, could only afford once.

Lust is always something he can afford—its cheap. Should their relationship eventually make way for more lust filled kisses and nights spent as a tangle of limbs, that would be fine. That would be different. Emotion would be removed from the equation and they would be safe. They’d bury the lust the next morning. Just as when he woke he’d have to bury… whatever he was feeling right now. He could control himself. He has controlled himself for twenty-six years.

“Thank you for listening to me,” Jumin says, looking up at Luciel. A grin appears on Luciel’s face.

“What will the rest of the RFA do when they find out you’re not a cold, corporate robot after all?” Luciel rolls off of Jumin, nuzzling up beside him. “Zen will be disappointed,” he laughs.

 He can switch on a dime, that kid. Jumin appreciates it, glad for the change of pace. His mind feels heavy. Never in a million years had he imagined he would be grateful for Luciel’s presence, but he finds he’s thanking God for it for the second time this evening. He wraps his arm around Luciel, making the excuse in his mind that it’s chilly and Luciel has body heat to spare. But he knows its really because he likes the way Luciel’s body feels next to him. He likes feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest and the faint beat of his heart as they’re pressed together.

“I happen to like being a cold, corporate robot,” Jumin says, smiling a little, looking off into the night sky. “If the RFA members thought I wasn’t a robot, they’d start bothering me just as much as you do.”

“Your secret is safe with me boss,” Luciel laughs, saluting. “I’ll take it to my grave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((y'all i'm on day 10/11 of seven's route and i'm in pain so that's why this chapter is a lil more emotional than the others??? i guess?? maybe its not?? IDK EITHER WAY I'M S U F F E R I N G))


	6. Chapter 6

“—So I ended up getting paid in Honey Buddah Chips,” Seven laughs. He looks over at Jumin—they’re still laying together on the Trust Fund Kid’s secret rooftop patio that Seven had no idea existed until now—but Jumin is, apparently, asleep. In his defense, it’s a long story and Seven doubts he cares that much about chips. The only one who’s expressed any sort of interest in the story is Yoosung, which is exactly why he’s never going to hear it. Always keep them wanting more!

Sometime between their kiss and now, the two of them shed their jackets, making them into a sort of makeshift blanket. Seven had the idea to shove his hoodie sleeve into the sleeve of Jumin’s suit jacket so the “blanket” would be big enough to cover the two of them. Of course, Jumin thought the idea was far too childish and if they were really cold they might as well go inside and find a proper blanket. He protested through chattering teeth, and Seven won in the end. He smiles. It feels like they’re having a sleepover—or what Seven imagines a sleepover would feel like, because he’s never exactly been to one. He imagines Jumin’s probably had them with V when they were younger. And, come to think of it, technically every night is like a sleepover for Jumin because Elly’s there. Had he not known better, he would have been jealous of the normalcy of Jumin’s life.

He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and he sighs. It must be, what, four in the morning? There’s only one person would call him at this hour. Slowly, rolls away from Jumin, leaving his hoodie where it was and taking care not to wake the Chairman-to-be from his beauty rest. He pulls his phone from his pocket as he walks back inside Jumin’s penthouse and out of the cool air.

“Why aren’t you at home, you punk?” Vanderwood scolds before Seven has a chance to even greet them.

“I’m… out,” Seven says vaguely.

“Doing _what_?”

“Uh,” Seven starts, but Vanderwood cuts him off.

“You know what, I don’t want to know. I don’t really care, just come back home.”

“You know Arabic,” Seven whines, “It’s not like you need me to let you in.”

“But unfortunately I _do_ need you here to finish this assignment,” Vanderwood sighs. “Are you close by? There’s big news and I’m not about to tell it to you over the phone.”

“I can be back soon, I brought one of my babes.” Seven sighs, making his way to the elevator. He’ll have to come out the way he came in— by sneaking. But maybe if he’s lucky he’ll run into Elly on his way out and give her a proper goodbye before he returns home to work himself to death.

“You and your stupid nicknames,” Vanderwood groans, “Just get here.”

“Okay, okay I’m going,” Seven laughs, getting off the elevator. Vanderwood hangs up and Seven makes his way down the hall. Considering he’s been on this floor of Jumin’s penthouse a grand total of two times, he’s finding his way remarkably well. Elly seems to prefer the ground floor—or maybe she can just tell when he sneaks in to visit, because she usually waits for him in the same spot. Such a lovely, loyal girl.

As much as he dreads going back to work, he’s anticipating Vanderwood’s news. Seven doesn’t know if he’d go so far as to call them friends, but considering that neither of them are allowed to have friends or have even had friends in the first place, he supposes it’s an appropriate label. Vanderwood certainly nags as if they care about Seven, so that’s a comfort to say the least. You don’t exactly work with someone for seven years and _not_ care about them. He’s sure he’s mentioned to Vanderwood at least once that were they to get killed, he’d probably cry. There was at least a fifty percent chance. To which Vanderwood responded by hitting him on the back of his head—which Seven knew was just their way of saying they feel the same.

Seven finds the Trust Fund Kid’s office and sneaks through to the balcony. Climbing down the back wall and going through the garden has proven to be the easiest way in and out of Jumin’s house. He’s thought about mentioning this weak point in security, but realized that saying anything would only be shooting himself in the foot so he keeps his mouth shut. It’s not like Jumin is really in any danger anyway. Sometimes Seven thinks the security guards are all for show.

Within minutes, he’s scaled down the side of Jumin’s penthouse and he’s making his way through all the weird bushes and viney things in Jumin’s garden. Seven’s never really understood why people would keep plants. Largely because he tried once and, unsurprisingly, killed it. Plants can’t survive off things like PhD. Pepper and Honey Buddah Chips so staying in his house is a death sentence. Then again, Seven also doubts that Jumin is the one to personally take care of all these plants and so doesn’t run the same risk of accidentally watering his plants with PhD. Pepper. Ah, the perks of being a social elite.

Seven’s baby hums to life and Seven sits for a moment, warming his hands up under the heater. He didn’t realize until now, but he’s left his hoodie at Jumin’s. Which is a shame because it’s his favorite, but he knows Vanderwood will kill him if he goes back for it. And, all things considered, he should be getting home. Spending time with Jumin is nice, but there’s only so much he can get out of their time together. A familiar weight settles itself on his chest. Things that are so easy to forget when he’s with Jumin float back to mind. He’s almost mad at himself for spending so much time with the Trust Fund Kid—there are things that have happened to him that he should never forget, even for a moment. Spies have secrets and secrets breed secrets. The Trust Fund Kid doesn’t know his secrets—can’t know his secrets. Spending time with him— as nice as it feels, as much as it helps him to forget—can’t help him bring back the things that he’s lost. The people he’s lost. There’s no guarantee that his work will bring anything back either, but there’s at least the possibility. That’s why, first and foremost, he’s dedicated to his work for the agency and his work with Vanderwood. It’s a bit selfish, but Seven truly puts his needs before anyone else’s. He has to. He has to survive. It’s time to focus.

“Finally,” Vanderwood sighs, as Seven walks into the apartment. Their arms are full of Seven’s laundry, but they put it down on the couch. “Your phone is off?” They ask.

“Yeah. What’s the news?”

“I managed to pick up some coordinates,” Vanderwood says, “We’re a step closer.”

“Have you looked into the coordinates?” Seven asks, shuffling to his desk and booting up his system. Vanderwood sighs.

“I checked on them a few hours ago. It’s nothing big, but it’s better than nothing. I’m starting to put together a trail of bread crumbs at this point. The coordinates lead to a warehouse in Busan—I’m assuming there’s something we’re supposed to find there.”

“Busan,” Seven repeats absentmindedly. The two of them don’t usually travel far for work—most of it is done from the safety of Seven’s apartment. Field missions are usually local—Seoul is big enough to hide plenty of secrets others don’t want to have found. “Boss will get suspicious.”

“That’s the shitty part,” Vanderwood sighs, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of their pocket. Seven has repeatedly told them not to smoke in the apartment, but they remind him that they’re the one to clean it in the first place, so the only one who’s allowed to have a say is them. And, to be fair, they have a point. He’s not sure how Vanderwood manages to get rid of the smell in an apartment without windows, but apparently they have their ways.

“We have limited options,” Vanderwood takes a drag, “One, we can play it safe and wait for the next bread crumb. I don’t know when that will be, or even if there will be another one. We’ve waited at least six months for this one.” They blow smoke up towards the air, “Or, two, I can make the trip down to Busan while you work this next assignment on your own. You’ll be slower, which could put you in danger. It could be a trap, which will put me in danger.”

The answer is obvious. Seven doesn’t want to wait, doesn’t want to ignore this clue. He can take fire from the Boss or from other agencies. Vanderwood is smart enough to smell danger—if there’s a possibility of a trap, they’ll get out. This information is too important to the two of them to just ignore.

“Have we ever been known to play it safe?” Seven laughs. He feels uneasy, but he’s too eager for information to listen to his gut. At any rate, Vanderwood cracks a smile. They’d been hoping for the same answer—Seven doesn’t think about it often, but the two of them really do make a good team.

-

_“What’s this?” Seven grabs a file sitting under Vanderwood’s elbow. Vanderwood moves to snatch it from him, pulling one of their guns from their holsters, but doesn’t manage to catch him before he can glimpse some of the documents in the folder. For the first time in three years, Seven feels a spark of hope._

_“Triad?”_

_“If you look through my personal things again, I won’t hesitate to get rid of you, 707,” Vanderwood says, still holding their pistol up in Seven’s face._

_“You’re gathering information on Triad? Why?” Vanderwood takes a step closer. The end of their gun is pressed up against Seven’s forehead now._

_“None of your business.”_

_“They took someone that belongs to you, didn’t they?” Seven says, his voice barely above a whisper. He hasn’t worked with Vanderwood long and neither of them are sure they can trust each other—it’s been a few years, but in their line of work, you can trust someone with your life before you can trust them with your secrets. So trust isn’t always the same thing._

_“How do you know that?” Vanderwood asks, glancing nervously around their shoulders._

_“I’ve been robbed too,” he says, putting his hands up. Vanderwood still hasn’t lowered their gun. “I thought my brother was safe, I left him with… friends. But I should have known family ties would catch up to me.”_

_“They took my parents,” Vanderwood sighs, lowering their gun as a tentative sign of trust. “Well, killed them, to be exact. I was young.”_

_“We… can work together,” Seven says slowly. “We can target Triad together.”_

_“I don’t even know if I can trust you,” Vanderwood laughs darkly, reholstering their gun._

_“You don’t have much of a choice,” Seven smirks, “I only have everything to lose by offering to work with you on this. You know Boss said they were off limits. He has ties.”_

_“Bastard,” Vanderwood sucks on their lip, contemplating the situation. But both Seven and Vanderwood know they have no choice. “Fine. We’ll do this together.”_

_-_

\--

Jumin’s back is sore. He can’t remember the last time he slept on the floor, not to mention a wood floor. Even worse is the fact that Luciel is gone. He’s not entirely surprised—only surprised by the fact that Luciel has left his jacket. Jumin has hardly ever seen him without it. He checks his watch. It’s six thirty. If Luciel has left in a hurry, it means he’s probably working. He’d be awake, but it would be childish to call him over something as stupid as leaving his jacket behind. And it’s not like Luciel will never be back to collect it.

He stands and stretches, collecting both his jacket and Luciel’s, and heads back inside. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. Speaking of calling people, his father deserves a call after yesterday’s fiasco and he’d much rather get the unpleasantries out of the way before he heads to the office.

“Jumin,” his father greets, before a full ring has passed. “I was just thinking of calling you.”

“You slept well?”

“Of course,” his father laughs. He sounds good natured at least. It was wise to let time pass before calling him. “Though, I would like to discuss yesterday’s lunch with you.”

“Go ahead,” Jumin says. Right to business.

“You… meant everything you said yesterday? About Miss Vanderwood? I don’t want to seem an unfair man to you. I only have your best interests at heart.”

“I understand.”

“I only have your best interests at heart” was the closest his father has ever come to saying “I cherish you.” Jumin has learned to accept it for what it was.

“I want to give you and Miss Vanderwood a chance,” his father speaks slowly, “a trial period, as it were. Say, a month. If I believe that you’re truly happy with her, I think we can work something out. Of course, there is the issue with the press…”

“I’ll put Assistant Kang on it,” Jumin says, “She knows tabloids and gossip better than anyone. She’s… quite an avid follower of a celebrity friend of mine. She’ll know the best approach.” He can hear Assistant Kang’s complaints already.

“I don’t know that the solution is that simple,” his father says, matter-of-factly. “I’ll put your assistant in contact with Ms. Park to see if she can lend any assistance to the whole fiasco. We may just have to put on a show for the press and give them what they want.”

“Father,” Jumin starts. He bites the inside of his cheek. He considers questioning his father—why is Jumin’s word alone not enough? Why can’t his father believe he’s happy? Why is he so determined to ensure that Jumin continues the Han family legacy of jumping from woman to woman? Is caring for the company not enough? When his father says “put on a show” what he really means is make a public show of being on the fence in terms of making a choice between the two women—or rather Ms. Park and Luciel—and that’s not really something Jumin wants to waste time with. Sure, the press would love it. Endless material to cover, keep the country waiting to find out which woman Seoul’s most eligible bachelor will choose. It’s almost comical—though the rest of the world would never be let in on the punchline—that one of them is actually a man. A man who’s not really interested in Jumin in the first place.

Not to mention the approach isn’t really Jumin’s style. Love isn’t a competition. He’s never been in love before, or at least never really had the time or care to find out. He’ll admit he could have had feelings for Rika—but whether it was feelings of friendship or something different, he’s not sure. And there’s no point in wondering now. He supposes Elizabeth the 3rd is the exception—he’s always been in love with her. Perhaps watching his father’s flings has caused him to romanticize real love and relationships. Perhaps he’s blowing it all out of proportion and such a thing doesn’t exist and he’s searching for a ghost of an idea. Perhaps love is just another of the many things he doesn’t understand—not even in theory.

He decides to keep his distaste for his father’s media solution silent. Assistant Kang isn’t likely to let his father go through with it in the first place. She’s twelve steps ahead and, while his father is busy drowning himself on the positive aspects of the idea (though Jumin doesn’t see any), Assistant Kang will already have a list of ways it will hurt the company’s image. A publicly recognized womanizer chairman is bad enough, but a womanizer chairman and a womanizer chairman-to-be could spell death.

“I should apologize for my childish behavior at lunch,” Jumin says curtly. He’s not sorry in the slightest—well, he regrets that it turned into a fight with his father— but he’s not sorry for the opportunities it’s presented him. Freedom is a funny thing.

“No need to apologize,” his father says, “If you hadn’t proven you were headstrong long ago, I’d have questioned whether you were my son or not.” His father laughs, but Jumin has a bad taste in his mouth. “I look forward to seeing more of Miss Vanderwood. And,” he pauses, “I hope you’re truly happy with her. I’ll be in touch.”

Jumin sighs, hanging up the phone. He tosses his suit jacket on his bed, holding Luciel’s for a moment longer.

Luciel…

He feels a bit guilty. When he proposed his plan, he’s not entirely sure Luciel knew what he was signing up for—then again, Jumin wasn’t expecting things to get this complicated. He’d assumed things would be done after a few dates, he hadn’t realized his father would be so insistent on proof. Jumin wasn’t one to rebel too much—he had when he was younger, around the time of his parents’ divorce, but things were different now. He’d have to set aside time to come up with some sort of schedule for the two of them, a contract of sorts. He knew Luciel was constantly busy with his own work and Jumin didn’t want to interfere. Luciel was always bright, but Jumin knew he was constantly busy with work—either work for the RFA or for the agency. To an extent, Jumin can sympathize, though he doesn’t keep the same hours as Luciel. His work for C&R is tame in comparison.

But, this is important. A month doesn’t leave for a lot of time and he’s not sure how difficult it will be to convince his father that he’s in love with Luciel’s Mary Vanderwood the 3rd. If he puts the right amount of effort into the scheme, he’s sure that this is the last time his father will suggest a marriage. Perhaps Luciel can even offer some suggestions— Jumin has Luciel, a known master of trickery and deception, in the palm of his hands. He’d be a fool not to use him. And, as inconvenient as the whole situation is turning out to be, Jumin has grown used to company in his penthouse. Not to mention the perks that Luciel gets out of it. He’s not allowed to have friends, but since Jumin can offer safety and secrecy that few others can it opens a possibility for a pseudo-friendship. At least for the next month Jumin can endure Luciel’s presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((psst remember how i said i wasn't planning on involving saeran??? i lied. also, i'm lov vanderwood so prepare for headcanons out the wazoo. i finished the game... i finished both secret endings and i have forgotten what happiness tastes like, but i lov my children saeran and vanderwood so.))
> 
> We did it folks-- we're officially in AU territory, but only slightly??? I'm essentially just gonna fudge with Seven's background a little bit ((bc still no mint eye)) and flesh out Vanderwood more because I love them and I want more Vanderwood in everything. I'M GONNA TRY to change the tone up a little bit more and make things more angsty so the fluff is even sweeter, but we'll see bc I'm weak at heart and I do love me some fluff!
> 
> ALSO, I won't be updating as frequently as I have in the past (ie-p much every day lol) because I'm off break and back in school so life is hell and I have to like. Care about finals and term papers and stuff like that (pray for me omg). SO, for now I can promise an update at least once a week (probably every Monday?)-- this will be the schedule for the next three or so weeks! Then I'll be back on break again and hopefully updates will be more frequent! In the meantime, you can always catch me on tumblr (@jo2ukes) and we can chat~! 
> 
> Hope everyone is well and, as always, thank you for all of your kudos and comments. You guys are the best and u make me smile :')


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up-- from here on out it's finally time for the explicit rating to actually apply ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ((the nsfw bits of this chapter are towards the very end if you want to skip them!))

“Ah, hyung, I don’t know,” Seven sighs absentmindedly. He’s already falling behind in his work—with Vanderwood gone, this was to be expected. It’s only been a day or so—he’s not sure how long Vanderwood will be gone. If there’s no trouble, they’ll be back soon, which is ideal because the Boss is a very suspicious person. In all honesty, he’s not even sure he has time for this phone call… “A month is a big commitment and things have gotten chaotic at work. Vanderwood is sick and I’m a one man show… I have to transcribe all this code—”

“—Then I’ll help you in return. I can read the code to you. The security is tight at my penthouse, so you can stay here in the meantime to streamline things.”

“No,” Seven freezes reflexively. “I can’t involve you in my work.” He’s never made the mistake of mixing his personal life with his work—he would have to have a personal life in the first place, he supposes—but he’s heard the horror stories. He can’t let those things happen to Jumin—to anyone in the RFA.

“You know I can’t understand any of that garbage anyway,” Jumin sighs. “It’s all meaningless to me. And besides, I have security. I’m safe.”

“You’re not,” Seven laughs darkly. With the holes in the Trust Fund Kid’s security as apparent as they are, the kid’s a goner. Which would honestly be such a shame.

“You already said you’d help me,” Jumin’s voice is even and emotionless, but this is as close as Seven thinks he’ll ever get to whining. And Seven doesn’t mind imagining Jumin whining and begging the almighty God Seven for help…

Though, it’s true Jumin has a point. If he falls behind in his coding, the Boss might start looking more closely at his agents. 707 and Vanderwood would be in trouble then—unauthorized departure, stealing classified information, plotting against Triad…. It’s a death sentence for the both of them. While the thought of dying has never particularly bothered him, he feels so close to finding his brother again. He can’t stop now. He needs Jumin’s help… and Jumin needs his help. If that Trust Fund Kid doesn’t know what the code means or what it’s for, if Seven keeps his distance and keeps his files safe, things might be okay. And besides, Seven can mention the security holes to Jumin’s body guards.

“I’m a man of my word,” he sighs, packing up his files. He curses Jumin in his mind—he better not live to regret this. “I’ll be over soon. Oh, but, hyung?”

“Yes?”

“I really can’t draw attention to the fact that I’m there,” he says slowly. He’s unsure of how to ask Jumin for a favor—if he takes one of his babies, his location can be traced with relative ease. As much as it pains him, he’s going to have to leave them at home.

“Ah,” Jumin’s voice is soft, almost a laugh, “I’ll send Driver Kim to fetch you from the C&R building, then. I’ll see you shortly.”

The line clicks.

Seven sighs, gathering up his files and stacking them neatly on the corner of his desk. He grabs his best laptop and a computer back from under his desk and hurriedly shoves the mess in side. Ah, he should probably pack clothes too… though, the future CEO was certainly rich enough to have spare clothes lying around the penthouse. But Seven would feel weird borrowing them. Especially since he wouldn’t be “Seven” to anyone except Jumin. Are Jumin’s staff talkative? After working for the Trust Fund Kid for so long, surely they’ve seen some strange things… maybe they’d be cheering for him since he finally has a woman in his home? Has Jumin ever even brought a woman home?

He skips to his room, digging in the back of his closet for some of his field mission dresses. Most of what he wore was ridiculous. Some costumes he’d ever only worn once or twice, but he liked them too much to sell them (honestly, what use would he have for a maid outfit other than to send selfies to Zen?). He grabs some tame dresses and stuffs them into a different bag, leaving one out so he can quickly change. He doesn’t have time to freshen up much, but he doesn’t care. The sooner he gets to the penthouse, the sooner he can work. If Jumin wanted him there so badly, he could deal with whatever poor hygiene Seven had at the moment.

As an afterthought, Seven stuffs some Honey Buddah Chips and PhD. Pepper into the bag with his spare dresses. Looking (and feeling) as feminine as was possible at the moment, he squares his shoulders and heads out the door. He heads for the subway—offering a last, sad look at his babies. He won’t be home for a month… a whole month without them seems impossible to endure. It’s all for a good cause, he reminds himself. He’ll be able to focus on his work. He’s getting help from Jumin, he’ll be getting information from Vanderwood any day, he’ll be a step closer to taking back his past. He doesn’t like to dwell on it, doesn’t like to think about how long it has been since Triad came in and ruined everything and the Boss turned a blind eye to it all. He can only think he’s luckier than Vanderwood—at least he has a past to reclaim rather than just to avenge!

Things are looking up for God Seven! He can keep a secret from the Boss—he’s kept so many so far, one more can’t be that hard. And it’s true that Mr. Future-CEO-Han has some of the best security in the world— if there was trouble, Seven would at least be able to detect it before anything bad happened. They are safe. Everything is safe.

Driver Kim greets him at the front of the C&R building with a kindly smile. Seven feels oddly glad to see Driver Kim as well, offering him a wave as he crosses the street towards the building.

“Miss Mary,” Driver Kim says, pulling open a passenger door, “It’s lovely to see you again. And so soon! I assume things went well with Mr. Han at his luncheon then,” he smirks. Or it would be a smirk—it’s more of the polite version of a smirk, a smirk that is acceptable to give to your employer or his fake girlfriend Seven supposes. “Let me take your bags.” Seven wishes he could hold onto his computer bag, but doesn’t want to seem suspicious—would it be suspicious to hold on to a bag? Rich people have things to hide too, right?

“My apartment is… uh... getting remodeled,” Seven stammers, attempting to explain the bags he’s carrying with him.

“Of course, Miss. All the more gracious of Mr. Han to let you stay with him.” Driver Kim didn’t ask, but the way he’s grinning makes Seven feel like he’s already cooking up some story. Which, come to think of it, it would be quite entertaining to hear the rumors the staff starts spreading about Jumin and himself… he could add fire to the flames. If he has to be stuck at Jumin’s for a month, he might as well have fun. Though, he’s not sure how much Jumin would appreciate it and Seven has to consider the fact that he has to live with the Trust Fund Kid too, not just interact with him in the chatroom. That prospect is a little frightening.

Driver Kim says nothing, only continues smiling as he loads Seven’s bags into the trunk and re-enters the car. Seven pokes his head through the partition again.

“I found a blue dress this time,” he smiles.

“It suits you,” Driver Kim says, laughing. “I’m flattered that you took an old man’s advice.”

“I trust you,” Seven says, playfully. “Besides, it’s not as if I know what I’m doing. I’ve never cared this much about seducing a man before.” Which is true—on field missions, the men he came in contact with were relatively easy to please. You show some skin, bat your eyes, laugh at their jokes, and touch their arms a lot. Throwing champagne in the mix makes his job a lot easier too. Jumin is different—being interested in him is a lot different than understanding him, and he seems to care a lot more about the latter. Not that it ultimately matters. Because Seven isn’t seducing him. He’s only pretending to. But if he _were_ to seduce Jumin, he’d certainly do a better job of it than anyone had before— the first step would be to just listen. And they had a mutual love of Elly, so that gives him some bonus points.

“Well I couldn’t begin to tell you how to seduce Mr. Han,” Driver Kim laughs, “I can only offer you observations. But if he likes you enough to invite you to stay, I’d say it’s a good sign.”

“Has he never invited women over before?” Seven asks the question without thinking. He’s sure he knows the answer so asking is stupid, but part of him wants to know just to be sure.

“You’re the first woman he’s invited over for more than a meeting or a dinner engagement, Miss Mary,” Driver Kim says. He furrows his brows slightly. “He’s been through a lot with all of his father’s relationships and I think it’s affected his own personal opinion of women. I’m glad to see he managed to find himself a nice girl,” Driver Kim smiles, glancing at Seven in the rearview mirror.

Even Driver Kim notices how lonely Jumin is. Seven almost feels bad that he really isn’t the solution to the Trust Fund Kid’s loneliness. He’s tasted loneliness too—from his early teen years he’s had to cut off contact with everyone. He changed schools, changed identities, stopped making friends, stopped doing after school clubs—his only solace was found in church. He liked the idea of God—God was the only person who truly knew him for who he was. There were no secrets, no fake identities, no false pretenses. When God wasn’t enough, when he needed someone closer, he took solace in the fact that had friends there—he had V and Rika and Saeran did too. For the shortest time, the four of them felt like a family. When Seven was faced with the prospect of working for the Boss full time, he realized he would have to cut off all contact. To truly disappear. He hated the idea, of course, but it was one of the only ways he could guarantee Saeran’s safety. But it didn’t seem to help much in the end. Saeran was pawned off to Triad.

So, yes. He understands loneliness. He understands the suffocation that comes with being unable to form connections. He understands what it feels like to be treated as an asset, as less than a person. He understands broken families. It’s ironic, but the reasons that Seven understands Jumin so well are also the reasons why he can’t be the solutions Jumin needs. He can’t be anything more to him than 707—the weird, quirky hacker in the RFA chatroom. The kid who sneaks into his penthouse to harass his cat. None of Seven’s relationships are real—they can’t be. Not until he has Saeran back. _If_ he gets Saeran back.

Seven’s shoes click loudly against the floor as he enters Jumin’s penthouse. This is the first time he’s ever gone through the front door—the penthouse seems much grander this way—and it feels odd to have the security team bowing at him as he passes. A burly security guard carries the bags from Driver Kim’s car, though Seven has managed to convince him to let him carry his laptop bag.

“Take Miss Vanderwood’s bags up to the guest suite on the second floor if you would,” Jumin walks down the stairs, adjusting his cufflinks as he goes to greet Seven. The security guard nods and makes his way up the stairs. Seven offers a smile to Jumin, feeling incredibly out of place.

“Mary,” Jumin greets, taking Seven’s hand in his own. He presses a kiss to Seven’s knuckles, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. The stupid Trust Fund Kid is having a little too much fun with the fact that the two of them have to play house, Seven can tell just from his nasty smile. Still, a blush creeps up to his cheeks. Kissing was nice. Kissing in front of Mr. Han Sr. didn’t bother him all that much. But it is weird to be out in the open—even though, technically, they’re in the privacy of Jumin’s penthouse—with all the security guards staring at them. Well, sort of. The guards either avert their eyes or start walking back to their posts. Maybe it feels weird because Seven isn’t used to having guards. Jumin didn’t seem to mind that everyone could see, but then again, Jumin doesn’t seem to mind much of anything.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, wrapping his arm around Seven’s waist and leading him up the stairs. He sounds sincere. For all the grumbling Seven has done and as inconvenient as it was to have to take time away from his work just to come all the way out here, Seven feels glad to have company too.

They stop in Jumin’s office and Jumin’s arm falls from his side as he closes the door behind them. He motions for Seven to sit in the office chair.

“We have a few hours to work before dinner,” Jumin says, propping himself up on the edge of his desk so that he’s facing Seven. “Just tell me what I can do to help.” Seven swings his computer bag off of his shoulder, pulling out the thick case file and handing it to Jumin. He then proceeds to take out his laptop, turning it on and cracking his fingers while waiting for the machine to warm up.

“You just need to read everything on those pages,” he says, commanding. “All the symbols and everything. Don’t worry about your speed—I can type quickly.”

They set a quick pace. All things considered, they make good progress. Jumin doesn’t know all of the names for symbols, he isn’t intimately acquainted with the work like Vanderwood is, but he does his best. He makes up names or describes the symbols as best as he can—Seven would have made fun of him, but he was too concentrated to care. He only focuses on the meaning of Jumin’s words, working to get work done. They make a good team. They don’t quite have the rhythm of two agents, but they have the rhythm of two people with a common goal.

Even though Jumin doesn’t understand the code, doesn’t know they’re changing algorithms on a security system for another agent, Seven feels odd. He feels exposed, like each new line of code is forcing him to bare a part of his soul to Jumin. It’s uncomfortable, but oddly refreshing. He doesn’t have to put up a pretense, doesn’t have to be someone he’s not, he can lose himself in the code and the sound of Jumin’s voice. Jumin doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t falter. He reads and Seven types and the two of them fall into a sort of wordless rhythm. They work surprisingly well together, almost as though they belong to the same machine.

\--

“You have to come up with a different favorite food,” Jumin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Seven laughs at his frustration. After their embarrassment at yesterday’s luncheon with Mr. Han Sr., Jumin decided that once they’d finished transcribing Seven’s code, they had to both be certain of who Mary Vanderwood the 3rd was as a person. They’re sitting in one of what Seven assumes is many, living rooms. Jumin is sitting on the end of the couch, a wine glass within arm’s reach. He has been questioning Seven and taking notes according to the answers. Seven paces back and forth. It’s late, but neither of them have ever had a reputation for going to sleep early.

“Her favorite food is Honey Buddah Chips,” Seven insists with a smile, “and it’s just by _coincidence_ that her favorite food happens to be the same as mine.”

“You do realize that not only do we have to be a convincing couple, but Mary Vanderwood has to have a backstory that would make it believeable that I would be in love with her,” his expression is serious as he reaches for his glass of wine.

“Well maybe you should lower your standards a bit,” Seven whines, draping himself dramatically across the couch, his head falling into Jumin’s lap. The Trust Fund Kid scoffs and doesn’t hesitate to use Seven’s face as a surface to rest his notepad on.

“What’s wrong with falling in love with someone who’s favorite food is Honey Buddah Chips?” He peeks at Jumin from underneath the notepad.

“Very well,” Jumin fights a smile, writing on the notepad, “we’ll keep Honey Buddah Chips as her favorite food.”

“Does this mean you have to stock the penthouse with more bags? I’ve noticed a sad lack of your girlfriend’s favorite chips, Mr. Han,” Seven wriggles his eyebrows. The few bags he’s brought with him won’t last long—he’ll eat the food that Jumin’s chef serves, but it doesn’t quite hit the spot the way his beloved chips do. It tastes like rich people food—too stiff and stuffy, the fun is missing from the flavor.

“Don’t push your luck,” Jumin says, and Seven laughs. “Favorite animal?” he moves on to the next question, but doesn’t wait for Seven’s answer. They both answer at the same time.

“Cats.”

This earns a full smile from the cold Mr. Corporate and Seven smiles in return.

“At least Mary has good taste when it comes to animals,” he says. “How’s your English?”

“It’s good,” Seven shrugs. Jumin nods and begins to mutter to himself, reviewing the things they’ve written down so far. Mary Vanderwood the 3rd—American born Korean, age 23 (Seven refused to be aged up more than a few years), studied computer science before moving to Korea, does freelance security work, loves Honey Buddah Chips, favorite color is red, favorite animal is cats.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Jumin asks, clicking his pen absentmindedly, “playing an instrument, painting, things like that?”

“Never had time for stuff like that.”

“I wonder if I could arrange for you to have a teacher—there are surely talents you could pick up quickly… perhaps something that builds off of the talents you already have—”

“Is that what you want from your future girlfriend?” Seven asks. He’s never really asked himself what kind of person Jumin would be attracted to, so of course he didn’t model Mary Vanderwood’s behavior with that in mind. Then again, he’s never really thought about the kind of person _he_ would be attracted to. But the whole process felt more like a resume reading than Jumin actually putting forward good character traits he’d like to see. It makes sense, though—Jumin knows business best. And his father has obviously been pushing relationships as more of a business idea, if not for himself at least for his son.

“This is supposed to be fun,” Seven says, sitting up on his knees and facing Jumin. He gently pulls the notepad and pen from Jumin’s hands and tosses them to the floor. “Forget about all the dumb fancy qualifications for a second. Don’t think about what would impress your father. What kind of person do you see as someone you’d love?”

Jumin stares at him, his eyes wide. The question came out of nowhere, Seven will give him that much, but he almost looks as though Seven has just told him he’d accidentally stepped on Elly’s tail. That, and his expression is mixed with something else… something that Seven can’t quite put his finger on. There’s a light pink dusting Jumin’s pale cheeks, though that’s probably the wine.

“I… I suppose I’ve never really thought about it,” Jumin sputters softly. Was he acting shy? Adorable.

“I’d want someone I could trust,” Seven says, doing his best to lead the poor Trust Fund Kid to think about a response, “Someone who would worry about me and always be there for me.”

“That would be… nice,” Jumin says. He bites his lip, his grey eyes lost in thought, “I’d want… someone who would greet me when I come home. Someone who’s always happy to see me.”

“And?” Seven prods.

“Someone who listens,” Jumin continues, not making eye contact. “But listens to understand. Someone who _does_ understand.”

“Then,” Seven smiles at him, “I can be those things for you.” He offers his pinky to Jumin who merely looks at it questioningly. Seven laughs—Jumin really didn’t have a normal childhood. V really never taught him a pinky swear? He’d have to question him about it later. He grabs Jumin’s hand, pulling his pinky out and linking it with his own.

“ _Mary Vanderwood the 3 rd_ can be those things for you. That’s a promise.”

It was a simple enough desire. Jumin didn’t realize it, but what he wanted more than anything was to just have someone _there_. He buried himself behind a cold exterior, made a long list of arbitrary demands, but really, he just longed for companionship. That was an easy enough task for Seven—Mary Vanderwood—to do. Even better, it was something that Seven realizes he’s been missing. The short time he’s spent with Jumin has made him think of all the things he’s missing, things he hasn’t had. Emotionally, he’s in a better off place than Jumin because he has Vanderwood—they’ll listen to him ramble on about anything and though they pretend they don’t care, Seven knows that they do. But he doesn’t touch Vanderwood (and Vanderwood doesn’t touch him if they can help it), he doesn’t think about kissing them…

Maybe he thinks about kissing Jumin too much.

Their pinkies are still latched as Seven pulls Jumin closer to him. The Trust Fund Kid’s eyes widen in surprise as their lips meet, but he makes no move to pull away, kissing Seven back. His lips are soft, gently meeting Seven’s, but there’s an unspoken hunger between the two of them. Seven experiments by nipping gently at Jumin’s lower lip, coaxing a sharp exhale from him. Jumin’s fingers are running through his hair and Seven maneuvers himself into Jumin’s lap. When they break apart, their breath is heavy, but neither of them show signs of stopping—Jumin’s eyes are closed, but he brushes his lips along Seven’s jaw and down his neck, leaving a trail of kisses. Jumin’s hands wander down Seven’s back, resting on his hips, and it’s Seven’s turn to latch his fingers in Jumin’s dark hair. Every spot that Jumin’s lips touch blossoms into a beautiful heat, burning at the direct contact and spidering out into goosebumps across his skin. He wants this moment to last forever, to remember the way Jumin feels underneath him, but the heat pooling in his lower abdomen pulls him to the present. He breaks the kiss, sliding off Jumin’s lap and clearing his throat. He feels embarrassed at his arousal, regretting pulling away, but grateful for stopping before Jumin found out just how much of an affect he was having.

“It’s late,” he shuffles nervously, looking at the carpet. He feels Jumin’s eyes on him.

“You must be tired,” Jumin says, his voice is barely above a whisper, yet still husky. Seven steals a glance at Jumin, but his expression is unreadable. He doesn’t look disappointed… confused maybe? Seven feels a pang of guilt.

“I could use a shower,” Seven laughs, nervously scratching the back of his head.

“I trust you remember where the bathroom is?” Jumin asks. Seven nods, standing— he feels anxious to leave the room. “Then, good evening.” Jumin turns back to his glass of wine, allowing Seven to escape the room without making his arousal visible.

In the safety of Jumin’s huge bathroom—that was now Seven’s for the next month—Seven lets out a sigh. What the hell was that? Kissing Jumin was nice, sure, but he couldn’t let himself get carried away like that. Once was an accident, twice just seemed desperate.

Seven fumbles with the fancy shower head, eventually figuring out how to turn on the hot water, and peels himself out of his clothes. His skin still feels like its burning, like Jumin is still somehow touching him. He replays the scene over and over in his head, cursing himself, but unable to stop thinking about it. He steps under the hot water and shakes his head.

God.

He slaps his cheeks. He runs his hands over his own skin at first in an attempt to wake himself up. To try and rub away the sensation Jumin’s lips left behind. Instead, he finds himself tracing his fingers lightly across his own skin, following the trails Jumin’s lips had followed only moments earlier. The heat returns with a fervor and he’s remembering the way Jumin’s hair felt in between his fingers, the way his breath feels against his skin, the soft gasps he makes when Seven surprises him with a kiss. Seven’s hands wander even farther down his own body, tracing patterns he wishes Jumin’s fingers would make. Eventually he gives in to his own thoughts, ignoring the blush that’s creeping up to his cheeks. His fingers ghost down to his cock, gently caressing his own shaft. He feels like a teenager, but he doesn’t care. He can’t remember the last time he’s touched himself, but he knows it never felt like this before. He’s never had someone’s face so clearly in mind as he lazily strokes himself. He’s never _wanted_ someone to touch him like this before. But now, all he can repeat is the same name in his head, over and over and over.

Jumin. Jumin. _Jumin._

He picks up the pace, remembering the way Jumin hissed as Seven bit down on his lip, how beautiful he looked when he scowled at Seven, how the gentle pressure of Jumin’s arm around his waist made him feel safe. He bucks his hips into his hand and he dares to imagine how Jumin’s bare skin would feel against his own, how it would feel to have Jumin’s lips softly kissing up his thighs, the kinds of noises Jumin would make if Seven pleasured him…

Seven bites down on his lip, his hips stuttering as he reaches climax. The water beats gently down on his skin as he catches his breath, the full weight of his embarrassment settling on him as the last waves of his climax fade away. He sits on the shower floor, pulling his knees up to his chest. He doesn’t regret kissing Jumin. He doesn’t regret offering to help him by posing as his fake girlfriend. As embarrassed as he is, he doesn’t even regret jerking off to thoughts of him in the shower.

But he had to live here now. Not only does he have his own priorities, he has to think of Jumin as well. He had to lay down rules for himself, especially since Jumin was confused and vulnerable enough as is. He could only kiss Jumin as Mary. Full stop. It would be cruel for him to take advantage of an opportunity otherwise, no matter how badly he craved contact. Seven wasn’t allowed to have relationships, wasn’t allowed to crave kisses and daydream about sex. Those sorts of things aren’t a part of Seven’s world. Mary is allowed to love Jumin—she’s allowed to kiss him, buy him gifts, think about sex, worry about his father’s opinion of her. She’s allowed to share herself completely and fully with him. Seven is not. Mary and Seven are not the same—they cannot be.

 If he can keep things compartmentalized, all would be well. He has to focus on keeping things separated, keeping himself separated. He isn’t Mary. The concept is simple enough, and Seven has the determination to see it through and make sure the separation stays clear. He stands and turns the water off, climbing out of the shower with a new resolve.

He’s God Seven! He can do this—keep things separate and nothing will go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAH okay I'm so sorry-- I'm TECHNICALLY posting this on a Tuesday.... I'm 30 mins late rip  
> ANYWAYS I hope it was worth the wait and that y'all have had a good week since I last checked in!! As always, thanks for all your support guys I love you!!!!


	8. Chapter 8

“I was thinking we could get together for a late lunch and discuss things,” his father sounds jovial as always. “With Miss Vanderwood, if she’s able to make it.”

“I’m sure I could convince her,” Jumin says evenly. He’s not sure what Luciel’s been up to all day, but a few hours out of the penthouse couldn’t hurt him.

“I’d like to, ah, start over,” his father says, “Really get to know her and understand why you like her.”

“There won’t be any surprise guests this time?” Jumin asks, trying to keep his tone from making it sound like a jab—even though it was.

“Of course not,” his father laughs, “Just the three of us! Though, if we do get a moment, I’d like to discuss issues with Ms. Park.”

“Why can’t we do it now, then?” Jumin sighs.

“I’ve still got some information to check, some press contacts to speak with, and then I can speak with you about it all.”

Something about the fact that his own son was last on his father’s list of people to discuss his own wedding with rubbed him the wrong way, but he says nothing. His father was every bit as stubborn as he was, and if he was determined to do things in a certain order there was no talking him out of it. His father had tried on so many marriages that of course signing his own son up for an engagement felt like something as casual as a surprise Christmas gift instead of something that actually mattered and should, heaven forbid, be arranged by Jumin himself.

“Very well. We’ll speak of it later. I’ll see you around four, then.” He hangs up, sitting stiffly in his office chair. Elizabeth the 3rd is sitting on his lap and, sensing his tension, snuggles up a little closer to him. In his humble opinion, animals—especially cats—are particularly intuitive creatures. He’s blessed to have someone like Elizabeth around. She can always detect when he is stressed, when he needs to feel her presence to combat whatever odd emotional bubbling is fighting its way to the surface of his mind. He strokes her fur absentmindedly.

He’s had a lot on his mind the past few days and Elizabeth has been attentive to it, as always. Luciel’s constant presence in his penthouse was forcing Jumin to ask questions he’d never considered in the first place. It has been years since he’s lived with another person—he moved out of his father’s home shortly after finishing high school, not that his father was an ever present figure in his life in the first place. They were close, but Jumin’s father was just as busy then as he is now. His only constant companion was V, who dealt with his own absent parents. So learning to live with another human being in the house is… odd.

Ultimately, he came up with one of the only solutions he could think of. A contract.

\--

_“I’ve never been involved in a contract before,” Luciel says, giggling a little as he flips through the pages. “But why is it so long?”_

_“There’s a lot to cover,” Jumin crosses his arms. “Since you’re staying here, we need to set some ground rules.”_

_“Can you just tell me the basics?” Luciel continues to flip lazily through the pages, obviously not bothering to read._

_“Those are the basics,” Jumin says slowly. Honestly. Did Luciel think he typed this whole thing out for fun? It wasn’t as though he had eons of spare time. He barely had time to log into the RFA chatroom, let alone type up a twelve-page single space contract. Luciel looks up at him over the rim of his glasses, his expression unforgiving. Jumin sighs._

_“It can all be boiled down to simple rules. You may add some if you feel they are necessary. I don’t want to intrude on your work and I don’t want to give you the impression that I’m becoming dependent on you.”_

_“Dependent on me?” Luciel feigns shock. “Mr. Trust Fund Kid, Sir, never in my wildest dreams would I fall under the impression that I could give you help you couldn’t buy from someone else!”_

_“Stop shitting around.”_

_“All right, all right,” Seven crosses his legs and looks at Jumin attentively. “So what are the rules?”_

_“First— any form of intimate physical contact will only occur when you’re Mary Vanderwood. It is logical for us to show physical affection in order to be a believable couple, but unnecessary for us to share physical contact otherwise. Second—any time the two of us leave the penthouse together as a couple we must be as painstakingly obvious as possible. Third—in order to continue a functional partnership, we must remain transparent in regards to any emotion or information regarding this prank. If one of us is uncomfortable or discovers some sort of article, there is an obligation to share this with the other party.”_

_“You needed twelve pages to say all of that?” Luciel laughs with disbelief._

_“Yes,” Jumin shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Mostly he just cares whether or not Luciel agrees to the terms. “Is this suitable?”_

_“It’s a good idea,” Luciel says, still laughing lightly, “I was going to suggest something like this after, well,” he mumbles a bit, looking down and losing some of his former confidence. He clears his throat, quickly composing himself. “I’m on board! Is this a legit contract though? Do I need to sign it or something?”_

_“Just keep the rules in mind, smart ass,” Jumin says, turning on his heel._

\--

A contract makes their situation awkward at worst and logical at best. Jumin had approached Luciel with the proposition first. He knew he was asking a lot for this childish prank in the first place and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making Luciel uncomfortable. Which was a feat—Luciel didn’t seem to be uncomfortable with much. Granted, Luciel had initiated their last two kisses and they were confusing in their own right. They were… nice—certainly nothing like anything Jumin has experienced before. He wasn’t really a kisser—he’s shared kisses with his mother when he was young and maybe a few kisses with dates that ultimately turned out to be disappointing. It was an odd feeling, kissing someone you had a connection with. Kissing someone and not regretting it seconds after. He’d never considered himself to be close friends with Luciel—Luciel was kept at the same arm’s length as the rest of the RFA, if not more so. Before all this, there was hardly a thing about him that Jumin knew with a certainty, but despite all that, Jumin feels that the past few weeks have changed their relationship. He would go so far as to call them close. Certainly one of the closest friends Jumin has had in his short twenty-six years—V being the only other example.

Slowly but surely Jumin was discovering little things about Luciel—he knows what Luciel’s bedhead looked like (when he actually managed to fall asleep on a bed), knows that Luciel drools, knows he has a bad habit of forgetting to brush his teeth, knows his favorite color is red, knows that when he gets nervous he plays with the cord of the headphones that he always wears around his neck, knows that he has cravings for odd commoner foods like fish shaped buns (which are, surprisingly, quite delicious).

And bit by bit, Jumin is letting Luciel in too. Of course, Luciel is privy to all the information regarding Jumin’s father as, more often than not, it involves his Miss Vanderwood persona. And Luciel listens to all of his frustrations, keeping silent mostly, but nodding and expressing sympathy when he can. Jumin would be lying if he tried to say he didn’t enjoy the few outings they’ve had together so far. He’s so used to going places by himself. It’s never really bothered him, but now, if he can drag Luciel somewhere with him, he will. He likes to hear Luciel’s odd complaints or questions about what the social elite live like, how to use certain products or which fork he was supposed to use. Of course, technically, Jumin can only drag Mary Vanderwood the 3rd with him, not Luciel, but she works fine too. The line between Luciel and Mary is a thin one at best. Besides, the more often they’re seen together in public, the better.

He’s contented with the odd friendship they’re forming, but it’s a difficult social navigation for the both of them. They’re both running into the friendship, both of their lives obviously devoid of _something_ they’re looking for, but they’re hesitant. They both know that once this is over, they’ll have to return to keeping each other at the same distance. And Jumin, for one, is not sure that it’s going to be possible. And that… scares him? He hasn’t had time to muddle through all the thoughts in his brain, he’s not sure he wants to. He wants to just let his worries pile up and sort through them on a different day, maybe bury them with the rest of his inconvenient emotions.

Jumin understands contracts, however. For the sake of simplicity, he’d suggested writing one for the two of them. No more confusing feelings, no more worrying about whether or not Luciel was uncomfortable, no more worrying about what will happen in the future. The contract explains exactly what sorts of behavior are appropriate in certain situations. Taking thinking out of the equation makes his head spin less. Logic has always made more sense to him than matters of the heart.

Jumin sighs, picking Elizabeth the 3rd up off his lap and placing her in her bed beside his desk. He stretches and walks to the office that Luciel has been using for the past few days. It’s barely past 1:30, but he hasn’t seen Luciel all day. Of course, he also has a contractual obligation to inform him of their impending lunch schedule.

He knocks softly on the door, pressing his ear to the crack in an attempt to hear an answer. Luciel says nothing, so he cracks the door open ever so slightly. He’s stopped being surprised at walking in on a sleeping Luciel—his sleep schedule was nonsensical and it was very rare that he got more than a few hours of sleep a night. Jumin had tried to convince him to schedule his work more efficiently in order to maximize productivity but also to get the rest he needed. Luciel declined, saying something about how he’s always worked this way and his work isn’t consistent or something he could plan out in the first place. It wasn’t Jumin’s place to worry, so he let the subject drop.

There’s something pleasant about seeing Luciel asleep. Even with the drool pooling in the corner of his mouth and the awkward positions he held his arms in in an attempt to sleep comfortably and his odd ability to fall asleep virtually anywhere, there was something charming about him. Jumin has amassed a rather large photo album of the various positions and places he’s found Luciel sleeping in—he holds on to them for future blackmail, of course.

He nears the desk, gently shaking Luciel awake. Of course, there’s nothing gentle about the way Luciel wakes up. As soon as Jumin begins to softly shake him, his head snaps up and he forcibly widens his eyes.

“Whassat,” he mumbles, attempting to look more awake than he is. “Oh, Mr. Trust Fund Kid! Good morning!”

“It’s almost two in the afternoon,” Jumin scoffs.

“Yeah, but I just woke up, so its morning for me,” Luciel grins. He stretches, the bottom of his shirt raising ever so slightly and exposing his stomach…

Jumin averts his eyes, studying the details on the office carpet. Has the carpet always had gold accents? At any rate… he’s always been… fond of the color scheme in here.

“My father wants to have lunch,” Jumin says, speaking quickly. “We only have about an hour or so to prepare.”

“No problem,” Luciel says, standing and saluting. “I can be ready in an hour!”

“The maid took your dresses for dry cleaning—I’ll bring them to you,” Jumin offers. For whatever reason, the maid keeps putting Luciel’s clothing in his closet. Perhaps the rest of the staff thinks they’re sharing a room as well, which isn’t the end of the world, but he’d have liked to think that at least his staff have a higher opinion of his integrity. Which they apparently do not.

Luciel only has a few dresses and Jumin has considered buying him more—for variety’s sake of course—but hasn’t found the time to do so yet. He makes a mental reminder. He’s never cared much for women’s fashion—women belonging to the social elite class always found the ugliest things and wore them, defending the ugliest garments in the name of couture, not really stopping to consider that perhaps some things should never be worn by anyone. Ever. But he finds himself looking at dresses more often, imagining whether they’d suit Luciel or not, if they’d hug his frame in the right places, if the color would nicely accent his skin or his eyes. Strangely enough, Luciel looks quite lovely in just about anything, though Jumin has already discovered he has a favorite dress. It’s simple—black velvet with ¾ sleeves and a square neckline, the shoulders are poofed out a bit and the hem reaches just above Luciel’s knees. It’s form fitting, but Luciel looks feminine and elegant.

It comes as no surprise that this is the dress his fingers gravitate towards, gently pulling it off its hanger and taking it to Luciel’s room. He knocks, but the door is already cracked open so Jumin lets himself in. He sits on the end of Luciel’s bed, setting down the dress beside him. Luciel turns—having finished straightening his wig—and smiles, walking towards Jumin. He’s dressed only in women’s underwear—a matching bra and panty set. Black silk. Perhaps Luciel always wears this when he dresses as a woman, but it’s the first time Jumin has seen it and it takes him a bit by surprise. Mostly he’s surprised by how much he likes it.

“The black dress again?” he laughs as he picks up Jumin’s selection.

“It suits you,” Jumin hums absentmindedly, letting his eyes linger on Luciel’s frame for perhaps a moment too long. Luciel notices, clicking his tongue and holding the dress up to cover himself.

“Think of your integrity, Mr. Chairman,” he mocks, “Or at least, think of mine! Letting your eyes linger on me like that… I’m just an innocent young lady!” He bats his eyes.

“Am I not allowed to admire my girlfriend?” Jumin smirks.

“You’re allowed to look,” Luciel says slowly, leaning in. His eyes have a mischievous glint about them, “But you’re not allowed to touch.” His breath ghosts against Jumin’s lips, and the short distance between them fills with an electric spark. Jumin closes the distance between them, placing a deep—but chaste—kiss on Luciel’s lips. He blames his desire for affection on the fact that he’s been starved of it lately—since the contract was drafted, the two of them haven’t been as close as they were before. They occupied the same space when they were working or when Jumin had to run a small errand, but their accidental kisses had stopped. Which, ironically enough, was the goal of the contract in the first place. But, as they hadn’t had much time to go out recently, Jumin’s time with Mary has been scarce lately. And, truth be told, there are moments when his work lulls at the office, or when he’s alone with a glass of wine, or when he’s lying awake in bed when his mind wanders to their last kiss. How confusing it was. How easy it was to have pictured things going further between the two of them. How dangerous the kiss really was. There’s a small modicum of relief in knowing that it’s the last kiss he’ll share with Luciel, but he finds that he’s always waiting for an excuse to have Mary around—an excuse to indulge some of his desires. And technically, now is one of those times—He’s allowed to kiss Luciel as Luciel is technically Mary now. And a little practice at physical affection wouldn’t hurt before the two of them rushed off to meet his father and tried to pretend they were in love. Things have been so… tense, so professional between the two of them for the past few days. Letting loose couldn’t hurt—especially if it fell within the parameters of their contract.

Luciel seems wholeheartedly into the idea, which is what really matters. He doesn’t pull away from the kiss—instead Jumin can feel him smiling into it. He drops the dress back on the mattress before wrapping his arms around Jumin’s neck and deepening the kiss.

“It seems rather like you want me to touch you, Miss Vanderwood,” Jumin observes, pulling away and still grinning. His hands find their way to Luciel’s waist.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” Luciel smiles coyly, bringing his legs up to straddle Jumin. “I maintain my innocence!” With light fingers, he pushes against Jumin’s chest, guiding him to lay back on the bed. Luciel scoots up, his ass hovering just above Jumin’s crotch. He kisses Jumin again, letting his hands rest on Jumin’s chest.

Luciel has never struck Jumin as the innocent type—he’s never talked about it, so there was nothing to confirm or deny, but Jumin is almost certain he has experience (and plenty of it), putting Jumin’s handful of tame experiences to shame.

As Luciel kisses lines from Jumin’s neck back up to his lips and back down again, Jumin lets his fingers ghost up and down Luciel’s thighs. His skin is soft, beautifully soft, and Jumin is addicted to the way it feels under his fingers. His hands eventually come to rest on Luciel’s ass, relishing in the way his muscles feel under the silk fabric. Luciel loosens Jumin’s tie and begins to unbutton his dress shirt—an unexpected surprise. He kisses down Jumin’s chest, peppering in small nips at his skin, and a fire grows in Jumin’s chest, moving down his torso with Luciel’s lips. As Luciel moves down, Jumin’s hands move to rest in his hair—the wig he’s wearing feels soft, and Jumin can’t resist running his fingers through it, eventually pulling Luciel back up to his face, kissing him again. He groans softly as Luciel grinds against him—he’s already half hard, and there’s no hiding it at this point. Luciel takes advantage of the opportunity, darting his tongue into Jumin’s mouth and continuing to grind himself against Jumin’s steadily growing erection. After a few beats, he breaks their kiss with a small gasp. He looks divine, kissing his way down Jumin’s chest and stomach once more, stopping to look up at Jumin just as he reaches the last bit of skin before Jumin’s pants. Luciel’s eyes are half lidded and lust filled, but the same mischievous smirk is still lighting up his face as he moves to undo Jumin’s belt. He pulls it out of Jumin’s belt loops with ease—in one swift motion. Wordlessly, he grabs for Jumin’s wrists, pushing them together and wrapping the belt around them.

“What are you—” Jumin begins to question, but his lips are silenced by another kiss.

“You can look but you can’t touch,” Luciel smirks, repeating his mantra from earlier. He slowly moves back down to Jumin’s crotch and, after what feels like an eternity later, Luciel’s hands are brushing lightly against Jumin’s cock. He’s taking his time, but Jumin doesn’t rush him. As badly as he wants to feel Luciel’s hands on him, he’s enjoying the sight. As confident as he is, Luciel’s cheeks are dusted with a light blush that’s spread to his collarbones, and his breathing sounds excited. He pulls Jumin’s cock out from his boxers, the warmth of his hands contrasting sharply with the cool air of the room. He’s painfully aware of every movement Luciel makes—the strokes he gives are slow at first, dragged out, and Luciel is carefully watching his expression. He runs his finger across the top of Jumin’s cock, smirking when Jumin lets out a soft gasp and involuntarily jerks his hips.

Luciel’s hands feel nice. No, that’s an understatement. They feel like heaven on his skin. He picks up the pace, stroking faster, his grip tightening. He brings Jumin to full hardness before bringing his lips to the base. He kisses up Jumin’s shaft, slowly dragging his lips up the skin before placing a kiss on the head of his cock. Jumin’s chest feels like it’s exploding. He moans as Luciel takes him into his mouth, his tongue tracing circles on the head of his cock. Eventually, he falls into a rhythm, bobbing his head up and down at a steady pace. Jumin wants to close his eyes and catch his breath—he’s seeing stars—but he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Luciel’s lips around his cock. Luciel takes all of him in his mouth, letting the head sit against the back of his throat, and raises his eyes to meet Jumin’s. Jumin mutters a curse under his breath trying to control himself and keep his hips from bucking up—Luciel takes this as a sign of encouragement and begins his rhythm again. As he bobs his head, he drags his fingers lazily up and down Jumin’s thighs, stopping every once and a while to squeeze the flesh.  He hums in pleasure, the vibrations adding a new level of sensation. Jumin pulls against the belt around his wrists, not really sure what he would do with his hands were they freed except caress Luciel’s skin, weakly pat his head, and encourage him to continue. But he doesn’t need his hands to communicate the insane amount of pleasure he’s feeling right now, and Luciel is adept at picking up what Jumin likes and what he likes the most. He brings Jumin all the way to the back of his throat a few more times, and it’s over.

“Fuck,” Jumin breathes, finally pushed over the edge. Luciel doesn’t move, letting Jumin finish in his mouth. He swallows, smirking, and runs his tongue up and down Jumin’s cock a few more times before tucking him back into his pants and standing. He removes the belt from around Jumin’s wrists and Jumin immediately moves to kiss him, an odd sense of satisfaction welling up when he finds he can still taste himself on Luciel’s lips. As they kiss, Luciel re-loops Jumin’s belt, buckling it for him, and breaking the kiss once he’s finished.

“Help me zip up?” He asks, grabbing the neglected dress from the mattress. He slides it on, somehow looking more irresistible than before.

“Don’t you want me to—” Jumin gestures vaguely in Luciel’s direction. He has every intention to return the favor, but Luciel only brushes him off with a smile.

“You’ll make us late,” he grins. “Besides, I said look, don’t touch, didn’t I?” He turns, exposing his back to Jumin, pulling his hair over his shoulder so Jumin has better access to the zipper. Jumin presses a soft kiss to Luciel’s shoulder blades before complying, zipping his dress. Luciel does a turn, modeling for him.

“How do I look?” he asks. As if he doesn’t know the answer.

“You look lovely, Miss Vanderwod,” Jumin smiles. “Shall we?” He offers his arm, glancing at his watch. They are indeed running late—under normal circumstances, Jumin would feel guilty keeping his father waiting, but at the moment he couldn’t quite find the desire to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished a huge chunk of my work reeeeeeeally early, so here's an early (hopefully not too shitty) update as well!! Hope everyone's finals week/December is going well!!
> 
> ((also i'm so happy to see all these juciel shippers crawling out of the cracks omg i love u guys))


	9. Chapter 9

“He’s here.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Vanderwood huffs, trying not to sound too aggravated. They know how important the information is to Seven, but they also hate being questioned. “I’ve been scouting the warehouse for a week now.”

Seven bites his lip. Saeran is there, probably only feet away from Vanderwood. He wishes he could ask Vanderwood to throw caution to the wind, to just run in there, save his brother, and get the hell out. Repercussions be damned. But he can’t. He knows he can’t.

“It seems kind of careless to keep him in such an open place, don’t you think?” He asks slowly.

“More careless than usual, yeah,” Vanderwood agrees. “The location is still remote and the warehouses have been long abandoned, but it seems strange that they’d leave valuable information and hostages out here like this.”

“I guess I always figured they’d have, like, sinister bunkers or something,” Seven murmurs, “Like the kind where you have to pluck a guy’s eyeball out and use it to pass through a biometric security scanner or something.”

“Glad to see the situation isn’t dampening your weird sense of creativity,” Vanderwood laughs.

“So… what do you suggest?” Seven asks shakily. He doesn’t want to wait, but he has to do this right. He can’t ruin years of searching right at the last second.

“Well, I’ve almost mapped out the floorplan of the warehouse Saeran is in as well as security camera coverage, guard patrolling areas, change of guard times, you know—the works,” They speak with a small hint of pride in their voice. Vanderwood was always good at field missions—of course, they have several years of experience more than Seven. “Give me another night or two and I’ll feel save enough for us to do an infiltration mission. The only problem is I’m not entirely sure what condition Saeran is in.”

“Did they do something to him? Did they hurt him?” Seven grips his phone so tight he can feel his pulse in his fingertips. If Saeran is hurt…. He’s not going to let Triad continue to exist. There will be no mercy.

“No, he seems fine,” Vanderwood says slowly, “He just looks… off. You know? I don’t know if they’ve tortured him for information on your father—”

“—He wouldn’t know anything about our father!” Seven cries out in anger. Of course it’s no use.

“It wouldn’t stop them from trying,” Vanderwood mumbles. “At the very least, he looks well enough to move. We’ll plan an extraction route over the next few days and we’ll move when we know what we’re doing. You can come here, can’t you?”

“Yeah,” Seven says breathlessly. “I’ll come when we’ve got our plans finalized.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Vanderwood hangs up, leaving Seven with a maddening silence ringing in his ears.

Even though the weather has turned cold, Seven’s favorite place in Jumin’s penthouse is the rooftop balcony he visited the second day he was here. He can’t see much of the night sky because the light pollution is really bad, but the few stars he can see make him feel like he can reach up and touch them. Like space is only a jump, hop, and skip away. It comforts him to feel like such a safe, secluded space is just within reach—that he can take Saeran to a place where Triad, their father, and his Boss can’t touch them. It doesn’t seem like such an illusion from way up here.

He sighs and lays on his back, his breath ghosting up in clouds above him.

Truth be told, he’s nervous. He hasn’t seen Saeran since they were kids. Seven had managed to sneak out of the house on a snack run—he’d stolen some money from their mom’s purse and promised Saeran ice cream—but when he came back, Saeran was gone. He overheard their mother on the phone, saying she’d find “the other one” if they were willing to pay the same price for him, too. So all Seven knew was that Saeran was gone, sold, and he had no trail to follow. Without thinking, he ran to the only place that he’d felt safe—church.

-

_“Please, God, let me find Saeran. He’s going to be so scared on his own, I promised I’d protect him. Please help me protect him,” Seven’s hands are clasped tightly, his knuckles white. He can feel tears growing behind his eyelids. He repeats the prayer over and over. He doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t even know where he’ll go when he can’t pray anymore—mostly he’s hoping he’ll open his eyes and find out it was all just another terrible dream._

_He’s pulled from his trance when he feels a soft hand on his shoulder._

_“Saeyoung?”_

_He opens his eyes. V almost looks like an angel—his expression is soft, his eyebrows slightly curved upwards in an expression of worry. And maybe it’s just the tears in Seven’s eyes, maybe it’s just the soft lighting of the chapel, but there seems to be a faint glow around him. But he looks tired, like he hasn’t slept well in the past few days._

_Seven doesn’t hesitate to leap from his feet, putting his arms around V’s waist. There was something comforting about holding someone, being held in return, something that made him feel like things were going to be okay after all._

_“What’s wrong?” He asks, kneeling down to look Seven in the face. He gently brushes away Seven’s tears with his thumbs._

_“Saeran is gone,” he chokes out, “I’m not sure where he’s gone, but I think our mom sold him and... I think I-I’m next.” V’s brow furrows._

_“When did this happen?”_

_“I just found out.”_

_Wordlessly, V pulls him into a tight hug, letting Seven give in to his sobs. He gently runs his fingers through Seven’s hair and pats his back. He murmurs soft words of affirmation, promises that he’ll help Seven figure something out, that they’ll get Saeran back safe and sound. Seven has never known his father, never known what a father should be like, but if he had to guess, it would be someone like V._

-

With V’s help, Seven ultimately ended up where he is now—working for an intelligence agency and using their resources to locate his brother. What he didn’t expect was to find help from Vanderwood along the way. And though V has been distant lately, he’ll always be grateful for the help, he’ll always feel indebted.

Strange to think that a near lifelong pursuit was coming to an end—in all honesty, it had only been around ten years. But when you’re separated from your other half, from the one person in the world you’ve sworn to protect, ten years can feel like an eternity. He’s not sure what life will be like once he’s got Saeran back—maybe he’s jumping the gun to even think about it in the first place. But… he can’t stay in Seoul can he? He can’t start over at the scene of the crime. He’ll have to leave everything behind and go somewhere new. The thought doesn’t really bother him because he’ll have Saeran and Vanderwood… still. The idea of leaving behind the RFA…. Leaving behind Jumin…

No. He can’t afford to think like that. Saeran is his priority. His life is too dangerous. No one else can fit into it, as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise.

“I thought I’d find you out here,” Jumin’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. He looks over his shoulder. Jumin is standing in the doorway, the light from the penthouse framing his back. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he crosses his arms.

His relationship with Jumin is… different. Different from anything Seven has experienced in his life. He can’t really be himself around Jumin—it’s too dangerous. They’re friends, sure. And he’s had friends before… or whatever was his equivalent of a friend. Acquaintances? People who were friends with 707 or friends with Seven, but not friends with Saeyoung. Not even friends with Luciel. But Jumin comes the closes to scratching that surface. He’s the first person that isn’t in any way related to his past that he feels like he could actually be close with. The more Jumin opens up to him about his father, the heavier Seven’s chest feels. Jumin is laying himself out bare for Seven to see—whether he means to or not—and there’s a part of Jumin’s pain that touches Saeyoung’s. Like matching scars. But Seven can’t be honest with Jumin, he can’t bare his soul in the same way.

He’s tried to pull away. Being Mary helps. He’s not Mary. He’s never lived in America or had the chance to study abroad or vacationed in Paris with his parents or had a rich, cold yet caring Corporate boyfriend. Dates with Jumin are fun. Embarrassing him in public is fun. Laughing at Jumin’s blurry photos of the two of them is fun. Kissing him and touching him and watching his reactions is fun. Fooling his dad, who honestly believes the two of them are in love, is fun. But he can’t fool himself. He feels like he shares the same heart as Mary in one simple, and terrible, regard: there’s a home for Jumin there.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. With Saeran on his mind, the looming certainty that he’s going to have to say goodbye to the Trust Fund Kid is on his mind as well.

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here,” Jumin says, matter of factly. “You should come inside.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me,” he says, biting his lip and looking up at the dark sky. There’s silence for a moment, but out of the corner of his eye, Seven can see Jumin walking closer, sitting on the ground next to him.

“Worrying about you is a bad habit of mine, I guess,” he says flatly. He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over Seven’s bare shoulders. It smells like him.

“You are such a problem,” Seven laughs darkly.

“How so?” Jumin asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I might have to leave for work in the next few days,” he sighs, changing the subject. He can’t answer the question without revealing too much about himself.

“A field mission?” Jumin asks. Seven nods. Jumin sighs beside him, turning his gaze to the night sky as well. “Will you be in danger?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Seven shrugs. Jumin stiffens beside him.

“Don’t say such idiotic things,” his voice is quiet.

“Don’t care about my work,” Seven snaps, turning to face Jumin. “Don’t ask questions like that. Who cares if I’ll be in danger? Who cares what I’m doing? Of course it’s dangerous and that’s exactly why you shouldn’t care! You’ve never cared before.”

Jumin doesn’t look away from the sky, but his posture remains stiff. Seven’s sure he’s angry—he’s seen Jumin angry before, but this is a different kind of anger. As though his emotions are palpable and clawing at Seven’s heart, begging him to take it back. Seven bites his tongue. He can’t take it back. Instead, he lets his venom hang in the air.

“So that’s it then?” Jumin asks, finally breaking the silence. He turns to Seven at long last, a fire burning behind his serious, grey eyes. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

“What else would I have to say to you?” Seven asks. He wants to cry, to fling himself from the balcony. “There’s no place for you in my world.”

“That’s never stopped you from being my friend before,” Jumin scoffs.

“It should have.”

“I’m not trying to force my way into your life. I’m not trying to interfere with your work. I just thought you’d trust me enough to let me see some of the real Luciel,” his words are cold and the clawing at Seven’s heart continues. Jumin is right, of course. After all he’s shared, Seven owes it to him to share some of himself. But that’s only if things could ever have been normal between them.

Jumin leaves, doing so in a gentle rage. It would have been so much better if he stormed off, snatching his suit jacket back, and muttering promises of never talking to Seven again. But he doesn’t. The two of them share another moment of silence before Jumin sighs—Seven thinks he can hear a hitch in his breath—and stands up to leave. He ghosts away, almost as if he were never there in the first place.

Seven sits in silence, clutching Jumin’s suit jacket tighter around his frame, and pulls his knees up to his chest. Whatever he was feeling, whatever torment was running through his veins, it was only temporary. That thought is what pulls him from second to second. His face feels numb and he slaps his cheeks, ignoring the fresh tears that are sliding down his face.

Stupid.

It’s better to feel this, better to squash these attachments now. Saeran is the only one that matters. Seven doesn’t matter—he has to make up for ten years of freedom that he’s enjoyed while Saeran has suffered. He wonders if it would have been easier to let his mother sell him off to Triad too. Then at least he would have known where Saeran was, could have protected him better instead of being some pitiful excuse for a twin brother— hacking and hunting in safety from miles and miles away while Saeran was subject to God knows what.

Eventually, a chill sets into his bones and Jumin’s suit jacket won’t keep out the cold. Stiffly, he stands and walks back into the penthouse. He feels empty, like a shell. It’s better this way.

He shuffles to his room where Jumin is waiting. His legs are crossed and he’s browsing papers in a manila folder.

“What are you doing?” Seven asks. His voice sounds icy, even to himself.

“You left this file in my office,” Jumin says, with a chill to match. “I mistook it for one of mine. I apologize.” He flicks the file shut and tosses it on Seven’s bedside table. For a moment, Seven stares at him, his mouth agape and unsure of what to say. “I’m not a child, Luciel. I’m well aware your work is dangerous. And I’m starting to realize it’s not childish of me to want you safe, either,” he pauses. “What is Triad?”

Seven’s heart stops beating for a moment. His own blood roars in his ears and he’s aware of the smallest sounds in the room. Jumin doesn’t know much… Just a name. He’s still safe, right? A name can’t give him much information… he has to stop digging. He can’t be responsible for putting someone else into danger. Not Jumin… please, not Jumin…

“What do you _want_?” Seven roars, throwing Jumin’s suit jacket off and taking thundering steps towards him. He grabs Jumin’s dress shirt collar, but Jumin’s expression remains stoic and cold. “What is it that you want from me? Playing at romance isn’t enough for you? You have to push your way into my business, read my things, ignore my warnings?” Jumin doesn’t respond. His eyes seem to shimmer—with tears? Seven feels panic bubble up in his chest.

It’s better this way, he reminds himself.

“God, you really _are_ a problem,” he repeats, letting Jumin go and taking a step back. “So what is it? What do you want? Is it a girlfriend? Because maybe you really should go with Jihae,” he laughs darkly.

“I don’t know what I want,” Jumin says slowly, his voice thick. His eyes are locked onto Seven’s, like he’s looking for an answer in Seven’s face. “For the first time in my life I…. I don’t know.”

Seven scoffs, but it sounds more like a strangled cry of anguish. Which would be a more accurate expression of how he’s feeling. He doesn’t know what he wants either. He wants to scream, to yell more, to run, to give in, _something,_ but his brain is only telling him that he can’t. He can’t. Whatever it is he wants to do, whatever he thinks of doing, he can’t. He paces the room, turning his back to Jumin.

“You’re pushing me away,” he speaks slowly, “Since I don’t know what I want, then… If this is what you want, I won’t argue.” He stands, moving for the door, but Seven catches him by the wrist. It’s mostly out of reflex, and he curses his hands for stopping Jumin from leaving. It would be easier if he just left. If a rift formed between the two of them that was irreparable, if Jumin found out he could have some sort of a connection with Jihae, if he could just forget Seven.

Instead, he’s grabbing Jumin’s wrist, pulling the taller man back towards him. His hands find their way to Jumin’s silk tie and he tugs, pulling Jumin’s face down and pushing their lips together. Jumin’s touch softens the pain in his heart, but the screaming in his head only gets louder. What is he doing? He’s only going to make things worse. Things will be harder for Jumin. More dangerous at least. Seven is sure someone will come along to replace his listening ear, someone far better suited for Jumin. For the briefest moment, he lets himself wallow in self-pity. Things will be hard for him, too. Sure, he’ll have Saeran and Vanderwood, but he’ll be lonely.

Despite keeping Jumin at arm’s length, there’s a connection here that he can’t deny and that he’s almost sure he’ll never find again. A connection he doesn’t deserve now and won’t deserve later. He tries to pour some of that emotion into the kiss—it starts off rough, but slowly the harshness melts away and they’re kissing gently, timidly, as though it’s their first kiss all over again, as though they have to be careful of the fragility of their relationship.

Jumin’s hands find their place on his waist and Seven feels himself being guided back to the bed. They both fall into it with all the lack of grace imaginable, their foreheads knocking together. When they break their kiss, they exchange heavy breaths. Seven is on top of Jumin, looking down at him, searching his face for an expression, wishing that Jumin would push him off or tell him to stop, but glad that he doesn’t. Jumin seems to be searching for similar answers and a moment of silence passes between the two of them.

‘Fuck it’ seems to be the collective decision that they arrive at. Seven can’t do anything to quell his own fears, but somehow this feels so _right_ that he can’t bring himself to stop. For the first time it crosses his mind that fucking around with Jumin is… more than that. It’s not lust that drives him, it’s not some side effect of being neglected. There’s really something here between the two of them, and that’s what makes their kisses even more bittersweet. He’d never admit it, he can’t bring himself to, but Jumin means more to him than just a fake attachment.

They kiss again, an intensity returning to their kisses, Jumin’s hands wandering absentmindedly. Seven grips on to Jumin’s tie for dear life, feeling his own nails digging into his palms. He lets his lips wander from Jumin’s, kissing along his jaw and down his neck, losing himself in the sound of Jumin’s heavy breaths. Jumin’s fingers slide underneath the hem of his tank top, gently running across his skin, driving him mad. Seven kisses Jumin full on the mouth again, fingers fumbling with his tie, hurriedly undoing it, tossing it to the ground, and letting his fingers fly to the buttons of Jumin’s dress shirt.

Jumin pulls away, pausing to pull his arms out of his sleeves. He whispers Seven’s name as though he’s about to ask a question, start a conversation, pull them away from this moment, and Seven panics. He covers Jumin’s mouth with another kiss—he doesn’t want to think right now. Instead he helps Jumin toss his shirt to the ground.

Jumin’s skin feels warm and flushed under his fingers. He likes the way Jumin feels, he likes that the warmth transfers to his fingers upon contact. He runs his hands up and down Jumin’s chest. He’s so beautiful—his skin is smooth, like velvet to the touch, and he has slight muscle definition. He’s seen Jumin shirtless before, but this time it feels different. Like he’s seeing him for the first time.

Jumin’s fingers tug at the hem of Seven’s tank, pushing it up to his collarbone so he can press soft kisses into Seven’s stomach. Seven lets his fingers tangle in Jumin’s hair, closes his eyes and lets his neck fall back, giving in completely to how Jumin feels on his skin. He kisses his way up Seven’s chest, his breath sending chills up Seven’s spine. As Jumin’s lips work, Seven pulls his tank top off the rest of the way, tossing it aside—adding to the growing pile of discarded clothing.

“Luciel, are you sure—” Jumin starts as Seven slides off him and fumbles with his pants. Seven doesn’t answer with words, afraid that his tone of voice will betray him, that Jumin will realize that what they’re doing actually _means_ something to him and isn’t just some weird way of apologizing or promising that they’ll still be friends. Seven kisses him again, nodding as he steps out of his jeans.

He wants this. God, he wants this. He doesn’t know what will happen in the next few days, let alone the next few hours. He doesn’t care how their dynamic will change, doesn’t think about how he’s only going to have to push harder to keep Jumin away—or, rather, to keep himself away from Jumin. Seven’s a selfish person, always putting his wants and needs before anyone else’s—taking things he doesn’t deserve because sometimes it’s so freely offered—and just this last time, he’s going to allow himself to be selfish.

Jumin’s pants come next—Seven assisting him every step of the way, just to hurry the process, before he’s back hovering above Jumin, straddling his waist. They’ve never gone this far before. Sure, things are still relatively tame and they both know they’re going further from here, that they’ve officially reached the point of no return. No hesitation hangs in the air, but they both take a pause. Seven tries desperately to read Jumin’s expression, but also tries to remember this moment. This last moment of peace, when nothing between him and Jumin is broken. When he feels… safe—not because all the dangers in his life are gone, but because Jumin is here with him, wanting him—in whatever capacity that may be—and that makes him feel safe.

Jumin kisses along his neck, biting down gently on his shoulder as Seven grinds his hips slowly. He drags his fingers through Jumin’s hair, down his neck, across his collarbones, down his chest, memorizing the way each place on his body feels, memorizing the softness of his skin.

Jumin hums, pulling away and looking up at Seven, his face flushed. The sight sends a wave of heat through Seven’s body and he ruts against Jumin, lacing his fingers in his dark hair and pulling his head back, exposing his neck. He lets his lips ghost up and down Jumin’s neck, stopping in the same spot and sucking for a moment, before returning to gentle touches. Jumin moans softly, quietly—the noises sending another wave of heat through Seven’s body. Jumin’s hands are moving again, timidly playing with the waistband of Seven’s boxers. Another grind of Seven’s hips gives Jumin the permission, and apparently the confidence, he’s looking for as he lets his fingers slide past the waistband, squeezing Seven’s ass. It’s Seven’s turn to groan. He moves his hips again, continuing to pay attention to Jumin’s neck. He doesn’t stop until he’s marked Jumin, an odd feeling sitting on his chest as he stares at the bruise—physical evidence that everything happening right now is real. Physical evidence that will fade, just like Seven. But maybe Jumin will appreciate the reminder, too.

He can feel Jumin’s growing erection as he gyrates his hips—the physical manifestation of enjoyment only spurring him on. His own desire seems unrestrainable.

He pauses for a moment.

“We can stop here,” he whispers, “We don’t have to do anything more than this if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Jumin breathes, pushing his forehead to Seven’s. He closes his eyes. “I don’t want to stop,” his repeat of the phrase sounds more like a plea, his desperation punctuated by another squeeze to Seven’s ass. Seven kisses him, before standing once more, impatiently tugging at his boxers and kicking them off.

He’s been naked in front of other people before and it’s never really something that makes him feel self-conscious. Those people didn’t matter—they were one-time flings, flashing passes of light in his sky of influences. But Jumin… Jumin was more of a permanent fixture. Even if keeping him around after finding Saeran was unlikely, he’s known Jumin for years and that makes this moment feel more intimate than it has before. Jumin gazes at him with a gentle expression, his lips parted slightly. Seven feels a flush rise to his cheeks before he turns to his nightstand, fumbling in the drawers and pulling out his lube. He feels embarrassed to have it—never in his life would he admit it was a purchase he made _after_ moving to Jumin’s penthouse. He’d rarely touched himself before, but being with Jumin and separated by a contract meant that he found himself up late at night or in the early hours of the morning with the Trust Fund Kid being the only thought in his head.

Maybe he should have known these complications were inevitable.

He crawls back onto the bed, propping himself up against the pillows. He pops open the lube, wetting his fingers and spreading his legs, teasing his entrance.

Jumin seems frozen, awestruck and entranced, watching as Seven fucks himself on his fingers. His blush is steadily growing as is the bulge in his boxers. Seven can’t help but smirk. Jumin never tries to be cute, but somehow always manages it.

“Touch yourself,” he whispers, only half expecting Jumin to hear and comply, but Jumin doesn’t need to be told twice. He slides out of his boxers, slowly stroking himself as he continues to watch Seven. Seven adds another finger, quickening his pace and stretching himself. Two fingers turn into a hurried three, and he bites his lip to hold back most of his moans.

When he feels ready enough—or at least can’t seem to wait a moment longer—he sits back up, crawling towards Jumin. He kisses Seven, hurried and hungry, his hands flying to Seven’s skin as though caressing him felt better than any pleasure he could bring himself to. Seven giggles into the kiss, feeling giddiness rise up in his chest.

He reaches for the lube, pouring more into the palm of his hand and giving Jumin a few strokes before straddling Jumin’s waist once more, reaching around behind himself to guide Jumin into him. He teases him first, rubbing the head of Jumin’s cock against his entrance.

“Luciel,” Jumin purrs softly, “ _Fuck_.”

The fire pooling in his lower stomach is too much and his patience is waning. Slowly, he lowers himself onto Jumin’s cock, giving himself time to adjust to his size. He feels so _good_ , so breathless. Jumin is gripping his hips, his fingers digging into his skin tight enough to leave marks and Seven secretly hopes they do.

He slides all the way down on Jumin’s cock, pausing for a moment before rocking his hips. He rides Jumin like this for several moments, watching his reactions and paying attention to the sensations exploding within his own body. He’s not quiet about anything—he lets moans escape his throat, a wordless way to communicate to Jumin just how good this feels.

In response, Jumin takes control for the first time, shifting their position. He pushes Seven onto his back, kissing his open, moaning mouth. Seven wraps his legs around Jumin’s waist, pulling them closer together. He feels Jumin’s heavy breaths against his ear.

Even if Jumin had no idea what he was doing, even if he had only been intimate with someone else a handful of times (or maybe never), even if he’s a timid, blushing mess, he seems to automatically know what Seven wants.

He thrusts into Seven, the new angle allowing him to push in deeper. Seven can feel his toes curl.

“Jumin, Jumin, _Jumin_ ,” he whispers with each thrust, finally free to vocalize the name that he’s repeated in his head countless times while pleasuring himself.

“God,” Jumin groans into his ear.

Seven’s back arches as Jumin straightens, his thrusts hitting at the perfect angle. He bites on his lip, trying to stifle a moan with minimal success. Jumin’s fingers brush against his chest.

“You sound so beautiful,” Jumin murmurs quietly, bending over and pressing a kiss to Seven’s chest. One of his hands trail down Seven’s chest, wrapping around his cock. Seven whimpers at the contact.

“Jumin,” he whispers again, “ _Please_.”

His pleas draw a small smile from Jumin who complies, stroking Seven in time with his thrusts. Seven’s legs are shaking. He’s seeing stars—he’s never felt like this before. His skin is burning, but the heat is so comfortable, so warm. He feels completely full, completely satisfied, and his breath escapes in short wimpers. He’s close… so close…

Jumin’s thrusts pick up in pace, the rhythm failing and becoming more erratic. He leans forward again, pressing his forehead to Seven’s, lacing his fingers through Seven’s.

“Luciel,” he chokes out a soft whisper, his breath ghosting across Seven’s lips. Their moans mix together.

“ _Ah,_ I’m going to— I should,” Jumin stammers. Seven notices his arms are shaking. He must be close too. He moves to pull out, but Seven tightens his legs around him once more, pulling him close. He doesn’t know what possesses him to let Jumin finish inside—just something about the idea seems… right.

Jumin releases one of Seven’s hands, taking up Seven’s cock once more. Perfect— Jumin’s touch is _perfect_ , and Seven can only open his mouth with pleasure. No sound comes out—his mind is blank, only focusing on the explosions of sensation that roll through his body. He finishes without a word, feeling Jumin finish inside him only seconds later.

He’s shaking. Breathless. Mind blown.

Jumin pulls out, peppering Seven’s skin with gentle kisses. He’s breathing hard, his typically perfect composure is shattered. His face is dusted with a blush, but he seems… happy.

Happy.

Could either of them ever be happy together? Was this the only shot they’d get at feeling it together?

“Wait here,” Jumin commands, kissing Seven’s forehead before walking to the bathroom. He returns with a warm washcloth, cleaning Seven’s skin. His movements are slow, gentle, treating Seven’s body as though it’s a delicate treasure—something he could shatter with one careless move. Once Seven’s stomach and chest are cleaned, Jumin wipes his thighs, not missing a spot. He can’t resist pressing a few last kisses to Seven’s skin.

The weight of what they’ve just done seems to settle in the air of the room, but neither of them seems to feel uncomfortable. The tension from before has dissipated—nothing’s changed, of course. Seven’s still dangerous and Jumin’s still broken, but for one moment, one night, none of that has to matter.

Seven scoots over to the far side of the bed, patting the empty space beside him. Jumin scoffs, but tosses the washcloth into the pile with their discarded clothes and slides into bed next to Seven. Seven scoots to his side, draping his arm across Jumin’s chest and resting his head there as well. Jumin’s heart is still pounding, his breath is still uneven. Gently, he strokes Seven’s hair. They lie in silence like this for several moments, each afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell and pull themselves out of their blissful illusion.

Seven’s mind floats back to why they’d fought earlier—Jumin can feel Seven’s fear. He knows Seven can’t share himself fully and it hurts. It hurts Seven too. He wants more than anything to be able to give in to whatever he was feeling—he hasn’t even bothered to sort through his feelings in his head. Even if it’s a friendship and the physical stuff eventually stops, that’s okay with Seven. He just has a pressing feeling that he doesn’t want to lose Jumin. And maybe he can’t share Saeyoung with him. But he can share Luciel... He _wants_ to share Luciel. Any part of himself, any part that he can spare and expose for Jumin to see, wholly and completely, he wants to do it.

“Jumin,” he murmurs, not bothering to move from his position. He’s too comfortable. He’s not even sure if Jumin is still awake.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to know why I chose Luciel as my baptismal name?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious,” Jumin hums. Seven can hear the smile in his voice. “I don’t think it common to take the name of Lucifer as a baptismal name.”

“It’s not,” Seven shakes his head. “But… I always thought the name suited me. God’s light… fallen from grace because of a mistake. Because of selfishness,” he sighs, pausing. Jumin’s hands are steady, tenderly touching him. He’s not pressing for reasons or forcing Seven to share more than he’s willing, and Seven is grateful for that. Jumin knows the value of a listening ear, and maybe that’s what Seven needs most right now.

“Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it,” Seven whispers, reciting the scripture as second nature. He memorized it long ago, somehow it always floated to mind when he felt inadequate—it was the perfect mantra.

“John, isn’t it?” Jumin asks. Seven nods.

“It used to comfort me to think that God was my father. That I didn’t have to have ties to my real father, that I didn’t have to be like him. But I don’t think I can change my nature. My father is the devil in his own right, and so am I.”

“It’s easy to be afraid of the people we can become,” Jumin speaks slowly. “When our fathers are walking examples of everything we fear, everything we don’t want to become, we wonder if we can escape. But you are not your father,” he says firmly, shifting closer to Seven.

“You’re not your father,” he repeats in a tired whisper.

Seven can only imagine this as a phrase Jumin has whispered to himself time and time again. Maybe some days he believed it. Maybe Seven isn’t his father, but he’s failed Saeran in practically all the same ways. He hasn’t been there for him; he didn’t do his job to protect him. He was Saeran’s light, but instead of letting Triad take him, he let fear and self-preservation consume his thoughts. He’s fallen from grace and he’s not so sure he’s Saeran’s light anymore. He’s not anyone’s light.

But Jumin’s words touch him somehow. Maybe he could be Saeran’s light again. He hasn’t become as horrible as his father yet, and if he kept fighting, he wouldn’t ever have to.

He is not his father.

“Thank you,” Jumin mutters sleepily, his words barely intelligible.

“For what?” Seven whispers back, feeling tears prick at his eyes. There’s a pause.

“Everything,” Jumin says at last.

Seven’s heart pounds and he bites his lip. He’s not going to cry. That would be stupid, especially since the façade of peace hasn’t quite ended yet. He lays deathly still, allowing several minutes to pass. He watches Jumin’s chest rise and fall, feels the fingers in his hair come to a still, and things feel like they’ve frozen in time. Seven wishes more than anything that he could just lay here forever in the safety of Jumin’s arms. He wishes he could hold on to this burgeoning feeling of hope that Jumin has planted into his chest, wishes he wouldn’t have to worry about it withering the moment he left.

But illusions are never built to last.

Jumin’s breaths are heavy. When Seven is sure that he’s finally asleep, he presses a kiss to Jumin’s chest, untangling himself from Jumin’s arms. In quick silence, he dresses and packs some clothes into his bag. Before sneaking to the office to gather up his computer and equipment, he takes a last look at Jumin.

It is really Seven who should be saying thank you.

He should be pouring thanks freely. He should be saying thank you, Jumin, for letting me share myself. Thank you for letting me be selfish. Thank you for opening up to me. Thank you for forcing me to face some of the emotions rattling around inside my head, thank you for letting me find someone who understands a part of my pain—even if they don’t realize it. Thank you for letting me learn a little about life, thank you for letting me experience life for the first time in my twenty-two years.

But he hasn’t the time. So he does what he knows best: disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I have to apologize for any mistakes here-- my brain is giving out on me and I'm sure there's plenty of mistakes to be found!! I'll try and go through and fix what I can in the next few days!!))
> 
> ANYWAYS. You can't have mystic messenger content without a little angst, right? Right? rip ;-; (also ps i have never been able to write sex without making it overly emotional... i'm only slightly sorry!!)
> 
> Thanks for your comments and your kudos, it means the world to me!! I love you all! <3


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m sorry, Mr. Han, but they really haven’t found anything yet,” Jaehee’s voice sounds timid, like she can feel Jumin’s anxiety through the phone. She’s never been particularly close with Luciel, but his disappearance seems to be worrying her, too.

The entire RFA is abuzz with excited worry—they haven’t been this frantic for years. When Luciel didn’t answer Jumin’s calls, he enlisted the help of Yoosung. He had assumed that, at worst, Luciel felt uncomfortable about the fact that the two of them had slept together—Jumin has his own conflicting feelings about it. But Yoosung’s attempts to reach out were also unsuccessful.

“It just went straight to voicemail,” he whined. “What’s going on? Seven’s not in trouble is he?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jumin promised simply before logging out of the chatroom. The less the rest of the RFA knew about Luciel, the better. He couldn’t drag them into this mess too.

While he doubted Luciel had been kidnapped or anything of the sort, he was worried that there was some form of present danger. Even when on missions, Luciel got back to the RFA’s calls and messages with relative quickness. This felt more like a deliberate ignoring—like he knew they would be upset at the danger he was putting himself in. Which wasn’t wrong.

The only lead Jumin has to go off of is the Triad folder he found accidentally. Which really means he only has a name. Any time he tries to push further in his research, to use connections to figure out what the hell Luciel is really up against, his resources back out.

They don’t get paid enough.

They’ve never heard of Triad.

Sometimes it’s as simple as an “I’m not going to help you and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop looking into this.”

Jumin is nothing if not persistent—years of business deals have taught him that sometimes the solutions and deals you have to work the hardest for are the most rewarding—and this is his most difficult challenge yet. There is nothing he can offer, nothing he can say that will make his connections willing to do the footwork. For the first time he feels helpless, like all of his money and resources are worthless and he has no choice but to wait with baited breath and hope Luciel contacts him. As futile as all his attempts seem, he refuses to sit still. It makes no sense, but it’s all he can think to do.

He’s put Jaehee in touch with a tracker, figuring he might have an easier go of things if he focused on finding Luciel rather than finding Triad. But Luciel is, unsurprisingly, good at going off the grid.

It’s been almost five days.

“Let me know if you hear anything, Assistant Kang,” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hangs up and puts his phone back in his pocket, taking a moment to gather his composure before returning to his table.

The funny thing about having your world fall apart is that everyone expects you to continue as normal. Despite his franticness, his father suggested he attend a luncheon with Jihae—for business matters only, he insisted, which Jumin knew was a lie. No matter how much progress he and Luciel made in their little prank, his father seemed reluctant to let go of the idea of pairing his son up with Jihae. As much as Jumin would have liked to decline, he couldn’t come up with a suitable excuse. His father had no business knowing about Luciel’s disappearance, and to suggest that Mary Vanderwood had gone missing instead would cause more trouble than help.

So, he had no choice but to don a smile and suffer through lunch, ignoring the poorly concealed paparazzi throughout the establishment.

“Are you alright?” Jihae asks as he returns to the table. She is incredibly perceptive and, as much as he hates the time he’s wasting with her instead of looking for Luciel, he appreciates that she’s able to read every little detail. Whatever her motives were in pursuing a business deal or a marriage, she at least treated him like a person instead of a walking wallet. Not that it seemed Jihae was in need of money in the first place.

“Just some bad news,” he sighs, not wanting to delve into his personal life. “Now about the contracts for next quarter’s—”

“—Jumin,” her voice is soft, but manages to halt him in his tracks. She reaches across the table and places her hand softly atop his. “Stop the business talk for a moment. You shouldn’t ignore something that’s so clearly upsetting you. I know things started kind of awkward between us, but I’m a friend,” she smiles. He wouldn’t exactly consider her a friend seeing as they’ve only met up a handful of times. Still, she seems genuine which makes Jumin immediately distrustful. His mind is screaming that she has ulterior motives, but he can’t possibly imagine what they would be. Perhaps she could be a friend. She’s already been perfectly civil towards him when he expressed his distaste at the idea of marriage, which is more than he can say about any other woman he’s refused to marry.

“What’s bothering you?”

“It’s a bit confidential,” Jumin scoffs. He wishes he could tell her—he really can’t confide in anyone else. Not even Jaehee— judging by the way Luciel reacted when he found out Jumin even knew Triad existed, it meant they were trouble. He couldn’t ask Jaehee to put herself in danger like that. He didn’t want to.

Jihae, however, is persistent.

“Jumin, I’m the head of a security company. I deal with confidential every day. You can trust me.” She smiles again and an idea sparks in Jumin’s head.

“You… run across a lot of secrets, then?” he asks.

“I’ve seen it all,” she says casually, “I promise, anything you’ve got to tell me won’t be shocking.”

“Could you help me find a missing person?”

“Certainly,” she says, her expression becoming serious, “My entire arsenal of resources is at your disposal.” She digs in her purse, pulling out a pen and some paper. “Who exactly are you looking for?” Jumin pauses.

“A friend. Red hair, glasses, around a hundred seventy centimeters. His name isn’t important.”

Jihae nods, taking down the information.

“When did he go missing?”

“About five days ago.”

“Surely with your resources you would have been able to find him by now,” She says after a pause, “Is there some reason he’s difficult to find? Do you have reason to believe he’s in danger?”

“The organization I believe he’s tied up with has a bit of a reputation, apparently,” Jumin sighs. He takes a swig of champagne, relishing in the burn as it goes down his throat. Perhaps in her work, Jihae has run across information about Triad. Even if she’s not willing to go after them, he’s sure he can press her for more leads. At this point, he’s willing to go after Luciel himself if that’s what it takes.

“Have you ever heard of an organization called Triad?” He asks.

Jihae freezes, her eyes slowly meeting his. There’s no fear in them, which gives Jumin some odd sense of comfort. At least she’s not ready to run at the mere mention of a name.

“Triad?”

“I believe my friend is running some dangerous mission against them, maybe they caught wind of it. If you don’t want to work directly against Triad, that’s fine. All I ask is that you give me the information you have so I can find them.”

“I’ll help,” she says slowly, “but I’m not sure you know what you’re getting into. Triad is one of the most powerful gangs in Korea. Their influence runs deep.” She clicks her pen a few times, biting her lip. She casts a glance around the restaurant before leaning closer to him.

“Drug cartels, high price hits, black market dealings, info trading, you name it, they’ve got some stake in it. They’re virtually untouchable. They’ve got police forces and politicians in their pocket—rumor has it the Prime Minister is one of theirs, or at least under their influence. They say Triad kidnapped his son.”

She casts another furtive glance around the restaurant, disguising her whisper as an intimate gesture by placing a kiss on Jumin’s cheek.

Chills run down his spine.

What in the hell has Luciel gotten himself into? Is this the kind of work his boss makes him do? The kind of foe he’s up against every day before coming to the chatroom and playing it off with a carefree persona? It must have driven him mad to not be able to share it with anyone…

“I need to find him,” Jumin says, resolved. Jihae nods slowly before taking a sip of her champagne. “Please.”

“Time isn’t on your side here,” she muses, “Not if he’s been missing for five days. I’ll get back to the office and do some snooping. Expect someone at your penthouse later this evening with information.” She stands, and Jumin stands as well, helping her put on her coat. She pulls him into a tight hug, her vanilla scented perfume hanging in the air.

“I’ll be in touch,” she promises, and turns on her heel to leave.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. Jumin doesn’t answer calls from anyone unless he believes they’ll be directly relevant to finding Luciel. His stack of papers and proposals to review grows ever larger, but he can’t quite bring himself to concentrate on it.

He logs onto the messenger with halfhearted hopes that Luciel will be logged in as well— he’s sent dozens of unanswered messages already. Please call me. Where are you? Are you safe? Everyone is worried. I’m worried.

If Luciel’s logged in, Jumin can scold him, Luciel can apologize and accept his help, and this mess can be over. Or perhaps maybe it isn’t his place to scold Luciel—after all, he’s been doing this type of work for years and he hasn’t gotten hurt yet. But still… things were different for Luciel now… weren’t they? At the very least he had friends who worried about him and he shouldn’t put himself in danger like this.

Or maybe things had really only changed for Jumin. This was a possibility he didn’t want to think about. He liked to imagine that because of the increasing time he was spending with Luciel the dynamic between them was changing—not just physically, although that was the biggest difference. At first it all started as just a bit of fun. When Luciel showed up in his penthouse for the first time, all stapled up, Jumin was a bit beyond rational decision making. His brain certainly wasn’t in charge. At the time he had chalked it up to something more carnal—the thought of kissing Luciel just… popped into his head and he had acted on it. And then Luciel returned the curiosity. On several occasions. Then, of course, their physical affection morphed to fit the rules of the contract—it was all in the name of advancing their little joke and it was fun. But somewhere along the line it became more than that, more than just casual fun. There’s something about Luciel’s touch that roots its way into his mind—has Jumin thinking about him even when they’re apart, longing for his presence. Lust isn’t the right word for the attraction they share, no matter how hard Jumin tries to lie to himself.

Luciel is a constant. A grounding point. He’s stopped tormenting Elizabeth so much, stopped tormenting _Jumin_ so much, always there to greet him when he comes home from work. Jumin feels at ease around him. He doesn’t have to worry about what Luciel _wants_ from him because he seems happy enough with simple things—he seems the brightest when they’re out together… shopping or eating or taking walks. In fact, Luciel is the only one who can manage to pull him away from work, remind him to take a break and enjoy the little things that Jumin always seems to take for granted. No matter the hour, he listens to Jumin talk about his father and there’s something genuine about the way he responds or offers comfort.

Jumin would like to think that he does something as profound for Luciel.

Zen is the only member in the chatroom. Jumin fails to log out before a message pops up— a somewhat somber message which seems odd coming from such a cheery profile photo.

“Any news about Seven? We’re all getting so worried T_T”

Apparently there was no such thing as inappropriate timing when it comes to emojis.

“Zen,” Jumin responds, holding back a lecture and chewing his lip. He really hates getting into his personal life with Zen, and he’s sure that Zen appreciates that he keeps his distance.

“How do you prepare for romantic roles?” He asks. He’s already kicking himself—Zen is the last person he wants to bring this up with, but he’s probably the only member of the RFA that’s slightly qualified to answer any questions. Somehow, between the five of them, Zen is the one with the most dating experience and people seem to genuinely _like_ him (again, it was all a mystery to Jumin). Not to mention, as a fairly successful actor, Zen had to have some sort of understanding of the human heart—more of an applied understanding than just a textbook understanding, which was all Jumin had to go off of.

“What? What kind of question is that? Are you suddenly interested in my work?” Zen begins spamming responses of shock—of course, he neglects to answer the question.

“Characters who are in love… People who are in love… how do they behave?”

“You have to ask such basic question? Hyung…. Lololol”

“Do you not have an answer?” He responds impatiently.

“Of course I have an answer,” Zen replies, his responses coming in a quick stream. “Romance is one of the easiest genres. Love is easy.”

Jumin scoffs.

“If it was so easy, you’d think you would have managed to keep a girlfriend by now.”

“Hey! Do you want an answer to your stupid question or not?” Zen pauses in his responses, daring Jumin to taunt him further. It’s a tempting offer, but Jumin really needs his help.

He’s not quite sure what to call his relationship with Luciel. At first he thought it was some bond of compassion and empathy—how could he not take care of Luciel when he was wounded after a mission like that? But then they started spending even more time together and Jumin allowed himself to consider the possibility of friendship. But now, things are different. It’s not friendship, it’s something different—friendship is certainly an aspect of it, he feels the same feeling of calmness around Luciel that he does around V, but this feels a little different. It’s like an entirely new creature to him, something he doesn’t completely understand. But he has his sinking suspicions. He’s never seen the emotion in practice, he only understands it from a distance, and it was never something he wished to consider before. But now that Luciel’s in danger and whatever it is that they share is about to come crashing down, Jumin is spending so much time thinking with his heart he can’t listen to his brain. His heart is telling him that maybe he spent so much time pretending to be in love that it maybe it’s not pretend anymore. Maybe it’s time to stop running.

“Anyway,” Zen continues at length, “Love is different depending on the character or the person. So for romantic roles I have to ask myself what kind of love I think this type of character would feel. But love has constants, some things never change. Love… always makes people act irrationally, but they never realize it because whatever they do, love makes it feel right. People don’t have room for anything in their heads except thoughts of the person they love.”

“Interesting.” It feels odd—like Zen is giving him a diagnosis. Maybe that’s what it feels like—love is some strange disease that Jumin’s come down with and he’s grossly uneducated in terms of his symptoms and long-term care plan. But knowing the diagnosis at least helps. It makes sense that he’s losing sleep over Luciel, that he misses him, that he can’t stop thinking about him, that he genuinely enjoys being with him and feels like he can trust him. It makes sense that the friendship label doesn’t quite encompass everything he feels— though, in his short experience with love, it doesn’t seem to feel like _more_ than friendship _,_ just different.

He almost feels giddy at the thought of sharing his discovery with Luciel—though, he’s not entirely sure how he would confess or how Luciel would handle it. Perhaps it would be unwise to even bring up in the first place, but if he has to live in constant fear of losing the one person he finds himself _caring_ about he’d at least rather have the sentiment on the table…

Of course, these are problems for another day—he has to actually find Luciel and keep him away from Triad first.

“Why are you asking though, hyung?”

“Just curious,” he brushes Zen off. He’s not sure how he feels about being in love, but he’s certainly not going to share the information with Zen—especially not before he gets a chance to discuss it with Luciel. But his priorities haven’t changed.

“Don’t worry too much about Luciel,” Jumin says, “And quit stress smoking,” he chides. “I’ll find him so you don’t need to make stupid health decisions.”

He logs out without waiting for the snappy response that Zen is sure to send.

The hours tick by slowly and Jumin hardly makes a dent in his work. Assistant Kang offers to help him with his ever growing pile of work, but he declines, feeling free to give into irrationality. She has enough to worry about and nothing is urgent enough to pawn off on her like that. Once Luciel is safe—and, after meeting with Jihae, Jumin finally feels hopeful that it will be soon—he’ll get back to his work. It’s funny how seemingly inconvenient connections always end up being rewarding.

There’s no new information about Luciel, no word from Jihae until he arrives back at his penthouse in the early evening. Jumin answers her call before the first ring ends.

“I’ve been hunting all day and I think I’ve gathered some useful information,” She says, not bothering with greetings. “It’s safest to discuss in person—are you at home?”

“I’ve just arrived, yes.”

“Good. I’m about ten minutes away. I know it’s short notice but the information is urgent and, well, I figured you’d want to know about it as soon as possible.”

“I’ll have my security detail know to expect you, then.”

Jihae hangs up and Jumin instructs his staff to expect a guest shortly. He instructs them to send her to his office and to not disturb them. The less they know about this whole mess, the better.

He retreats to his office, taking up his usual position behind his desk. Elizabeth finds her way to his lap, and he runs his fingers absentmindedly through her fur, but can’t bring himself to give her the usual attention. Even with Elizabeth the 3rd here in front of him, keeping him company, the penthouse feels dreadfully empty. It’s missing it’s third member. Even Elizabeth seems to notice—she mewls sadly, occasionally glancing around the room as if she expects a certain someone to walk in the room and scoop her up in his arms and toss her in the air before rewarding her with kisses.

“I miss him too, princess,” Jumin hums. The confession feels weird on his tongue. He almost feels embarrassed to admit it, but he can’t hide anything from Elizabeth. She knows what he’s thinking and feeling before he has a chance to admit it to himself. Maybe she realized how Jumin feels about Luciel even before he did.

He sighs, pulling his phone out of his pocket and sends a final message to Luciel—he knows it won’t be answered, but he’d at least like Luciel to see it. Even if he doesn’t respond, he’s at least checking his messages. He’s safe enough to do that. Or that’s what Jumin likes to tell himself.

It’s a simple message. Short and to the point. I’m coming for you. It’s a promise Jumin intends to keep, whether or not Jihae’s information turns out to be valuable.

“Jumin,” he hears his office door click and looks up to see Jihae. She looks tired. She has a bottle of wine in her hands which she sets down on his desk, reaching into her handbag and pulling out her phone.

“Phones off,” she mouths, her silence punctuated by the cheery noise of her phone powering down. Jumin takes his from the desk and follows suit—it seems a little paranoid to turn off phones like this, but he trusts Jihae. She’s been in the business of secrets so she’s bound to know more than him in the first place.

“Do you have glasses?” she asks without looking up at him, immediately setting to work on the bottle of wine. Jumin hesitates. He hasn’t much of an appetite for wine, he’d much rather get down to business. As Jihae had said, time really isn’t on his side.

“We have a lot to go over,” she explains, noting his hesitation, “You’ll want a glass just to take some of the edge off.” She fights with the cork, pushing it down into the bottle as Jumin procures two wine glasses and places them on his desk.

“So then you’ve found information?”

“Of course I have,” she laughs, pouring the glasses and offering one to Jumin. “What kind of friend would I be if I couldn’t do this simple thing?”

“About Triad or my… friend?”

“Mostly just Triad,” she hums. She clinks her glass against his before taking a long sip. Jumin finds himself swirling his wine around impatiently.

“Your friend is rather good at hiding,” she says with a smile.

“You’re telling me.”

“Well, anyway. You said your friend was running some kind of operation against Triad. He has some feud with them?”

“I don’t know the details,” Jumin says, crossing his arms. “But I don’t believe he’s their ally, no.”

“Like I said earlier, Triad is deep rooted in almost everything. Knowing exactly how your friend is involved with them could help us narrow our search, but I have a couple ideas of places we can start.” She turns to dig in her handbag once more, procuring a manila folder. She places it on the table in front of Jumin.

“I appreciate your help on this, Miss Park,” Jumin says, reaching for the folder.

“But not my wine, apparently. Is it not to your liking?” she asks. In his desperation for information, he’s forgotten social conduct. He’d like to say damn it all and do away with the formalities. Wine wasn’t important to him now. Nothing was important to him now except finding Luciel. However, Jihae seems genuinely upset that he would forget something as easy as taking a sip of offered wine. Certainly he owes her the bare minimum in terms of politeness.

“My apologies,” he smiles, taking a sip. The wine tastes… different. Thicker somehow. It’s got its usual bitter flavor, but the bitter taste sits in the back of his throat. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but it’s strange. Certainly not like any wine he’s ever had before.

Of course this is all inconsequential.

He reaches for the manila folder once more, flipping it open and skimming the pages.

“This is what we have on Triad, then?”

“Yes. It’s a summary of information. From what I’ve been able to find,” Jihae talks as he pours over the information, “There are three big locations of operation. There’s one here in Seoul, one in Daegu, and one in Busan. Of course, smaller branches exist across all of Korea.”

The bitter taste in Jumin’s throat feels like it’s spreading. His mouth feels numb.

“If your friend is in the information business, we likely won’t have to go far to find him, but we’ll be taking a gamble.”

“It’s all a gamble,” Jumin says, brushing her off. “I can have people searching in all three areas at once, so it’s not an issue.” His arms feel heavy. Jihae is right, though, if he puts all his eggs in one basket, he runs the risk of not making it to Luciel in time if it turns out he’s farther away than they thought. It’s better if they cover more ground. He’s not entirely sure what Luciel is after. He’s not entirely sure he wants to _know_. His head hurts.

“That might not be wise. If Triad catches on—”

“—I’m prepared for the worst.”

He glances back down at the paperwork in front of him, the writing all a blur. He takes a moment to rub his eyes—perhaps stress is catching up to him? Sleepless nights?

Rubbing his eyes makes no difference. His vision doesn’t get any clearer. No, it’s not him. He knows something is truly wrong when he can’t move his fingers—he can’t move at all.

Shit.

The wine.

He curses himself for being so stupid. He would have seemed paranoid if he hadn’t taken a drink, he felt he had no reason to be extra cautious. In his mind, Luciel was the one in trouble. He had no regard for himself. Even as he fights for his consciousness, he’s realizing his costly mistake is only going to end up hurting Luciel—who will look for him now?

He fights to keep his eyes open long enough to see Jihae lean casually against his desk, a smile spreading across her face. She crosses her arms, watching as he passes out in his chair.

“We’re about to find out if that’s indeed true, Mr. Han.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to promise you a happy update before Christmas, but.... ya know... (maybe i'll do a fluffy juciel oneshot or smth idk ok i'm dyin here too) I'm also sorry this update took so long to post- my wifi and this website both hate me apparently ;-;
> 
> IN THE MEANTIME knock yourselves out on that Christmas DLC update???? (I'm starting it tonight and I'm so pumped omg) Or, if you really enjoy being trapped in rarepair hell, and you haven't had a chance to read my other mysme fic yet, check out [Icarus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8855257)!


	11. Chapter 11

Seven’s heart feels like it’s made a new home in his throat. As much as he swallows, his mouth feels dry and the lump in his throat won’t go away. He’d refused to check the messenger or his phone until he’d arrived in Busan—he’s been pushing his luck enough as it is. Mostly, he was afraid he’d turn back and say something stupid that would get Jumin or the RFA involved in this mess.

It turns out he didn’t have to.

His first night after arriving in Busan is spent reading through old chatrooms. He’s afraid of reading the things Jumin had to say—if he said anything—how Seven leaving might have affected his mood. But it doesn’t look like Jumin has been active on the messenger much. At first glance, he’s grateful for this, but after skimming messages, he takes his relief back. It doesn’t look good.

“Mr. Han hasn’t shown up for work for the past two days and he’s not answering my calls;;;” Jaehee says.

“That jerk… he’s probably just taking a vacation without telling you,” Zen complains, “If anyone deserves the break it’s you!”

“It isn’t like Jumin to ditch work like this…” Yoosung says.

“He likes to pile on work, but he’s certainly never one to avoid it himself,” Jaehee agrees. “His father won’t return my calls either. I’m a little worried.”

“Maybe they’re working things out? A father son vacation? I’ve been reading a lot about his engagement to that Park Jihae lady…” Yoosung muses, “and he already has another girlfriend? It’s all a bit confusing T_T”

“Having two girlfriends isn’t a good enough reason to ditch work,” Zen grumbles. “But… I suppose you’re right. It _is_ strange that he’s unreachable. He’d at least have the decency to rub it in your face that he was on vacation…”

And it goes on.

What truly worries him is the last text he’s received from Jumin. There are several, but the last text is truly the most disheartening.

“I’m coming to find you.”

Jumin has no idea what he’s getting into. He’s probably in Triad’s hands now and he _still_ doesn’t know what he’s getting into. In all fairness, Seven doesn’t quite fully understand what he’s up against either—Triad’s reputation is formidable and, with near certainty, truthful.

“I’ll keep my eyes open when I go scouting today,” Vanderwood tells him. They can’t hide their concerned expression—obviously they can tell Seven is losing it. “With any luck, I’ll hear something about your friend. Triad’s careful, they wouldn’t have kidnapped him for no reason.”

“I should do the scouting,” Seven sighs, “This is my mess and I should clean it up.”

“No offense,” Vanderwood laughs darkly, “but I disagree very strongly. I’ve been here longer than you have, I’m more familiar with the layout and security of the compound. I know where I’m likely to overhear valuable information. And besides, we still have to check up on your brother. You should stay here, rest, put feelers out for information on where he is.”

Seven concedes. He doesn’t deserve rest, but the least he can do is search around for intel on Jumin’s whereabouts. He’s at least positive Jumin isn’t still in Seoul—Triad wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and hide Jumin right under his father’s nose. The Hans may be unaware of Triad’s presence, but with their power and wealth alone, they were sure to dig _something_ up. Triad knows this.

The real question is why they took Jumin in the first place. If they were worried that he knew too much, they would have just killed him. That was the Triad way—shoot first, ask questions later. Though, it wasn’t exactly fortunate to be one of the victims they didn’t shoot on sight. Usually if Triad keeps you alive, your fate is worse than death. Saeran is living proof of this.

Vanderwood has shown him pictures. His brother looks thin, so thin. His eyebags are worse than Seven’s (which is an impressive feat) and he looks like he hasn’t been out in the sun since the day he was taken. Where Saeran and Seven were once spitting images of each other, Saeran seems to have become a ghost of the man he could have become. He was always small and frail, but now he just looked like he was on the verge of death. Like he could barely keep his eyes open. None of Vanderwood’s pictures were excellent quality, but Seven took all he needed to know from them: Saeran was alive, but probably not for long. They have to move fast.

To make matters worse, now Jumin is involved in it all. Seven can’t even lie to himself and take comfort in the fact that Jumin won’t suffer. He will. It doesn’t matter how fast Seven moves, Jumin will suffer and the thought of it all makes Seven’s stomach turn. He might as well be inflicting the wounds himself. It would have hurt Jumin less if Seven pushed him away sooner—it has to be Seven’s fault he’s gotten himself caught in the middle of this mess. He didn’t set strict enough boundaries for himself. His selfishness is causing Jumin pain.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid._

Or perhaps…

For the first time, he considers maybe the fault is in the fact that he pushed Jumin away—pushed him _into_ the danger. Seven wasn’t there and Jumin is headstrong—Seven wasn’t strong enough to keep up the façade of happiness, to protect Jumin from whatever was out there. Instead, he pushed Jumin headfirst into danger. He’d already been stupid enough to get close, but he wasn’t smart enough to stay close. He’d never been smart enough.

In the end, none of it matters.

The fact of the matter stands that Seven is at fault. Guilty. Again. Guilty, as always. Inflicting pain and suffering on everything he touches. Only this time, it’s touched the two people in the world he cares the most about.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that it was his fault that Saeran has been with Triad as long as he has, now it’s Seven’s fault that Jumin is under their influence as well. He doesn’t even know if it’s kind to hope that Triad keeps Jumin alive… but still, selfishly, he hopes they do. And that Seven will be able to save him, too.

 

* * *

 

“I have to apologize,” a calm, feminine voice floats to Jumin’s ears. He doesn’t have to look up to know it’s Jihae, but he does anyway. “Our VIP suite isn’t as nice as you’re used to, I’m sure.” She smiles, knowing that she’s just uttered the understatement of the year.

He bites his tongue. He’s not sure how long he’s been here—wherever _here_ is—but he’s already learned his lesson about talking back. His witty comments have only earned him his bruised, swollen, and currently useless left eye.

She sighs and paces. She looks comfortable here, despite the place being rather trashy. Perhaps he’s jumping to conclusions, but she seems to be relatively high up—she barks out orders and those nearby are always quick to obey.

“We’d have offered you better quarters, but I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a financial crisis. This is where you come in, of course.”

“You’re dumber than you look if you think I’d give you anything now,” Jumin mutters, just loud enough for Jihae to hear. His voice feels thick and his throat hurts—he hasn’t had water in God knows how long.

His retort only earns a laugh from Jihae.

“I’m not taking money from _you_ ,” she crosses her arms, taking a few steps closer to him. “But that’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m more interested in your little friend.” She crouches down in front of him, lifting his chin so that he can look her in the eye.

“I don’t know anything,” he says, pursing his lips. It’s the truth, though he’s sure they’ll try to drag whatever information out of him that they can. Suddenly Luciel’s circumstances seem a lot clearer to Jumin— living under constant threat of torture and punishment… no wonder Seven wanted to keep to himself. The thought of being harmed is less than appealing, but the thought of Luciel falling into the hands of these people is infinitely worse. Jumin doesn’t know what sort of business forced Luciel to get caught up with a group like this (he’s certain he doesn’t want to know), but he’s determined to protect Luciel. He must.

“That remains to be seen,” Jihae stands once more, pacing around the room. “If you truly don’t know anything useful, then this little appointment will go by quickly,” she smiles again. “Won’t that be nice?”

 

* * *

 

“You said you’d be back before sundown,” Seven scolds, “I was worried.”

“I got back as fast as I could, don’t nag me,” Vanderwood sighs, taking a seat on the floor.

“Did something happen?”

“No,” Vanderwood shakes their head, “Nothing bad anyway. I have good news and I have bad news, but we’re going to have to make a fast decision.”

“What do you mean? What’s the bad news?” Seven knows he’s being irrationally impatient and he’s doing his best to avoid coming across as desperate—he can really only hope that Vanderwood will forgive him. He wants to act fast, act now. He’s been desperately grasping at straws all day—the information he’s been digging up is anything but useful. There’s no way Mr. Han Sr. isn’t worried about the disappearance of his son, but he’s keeping awfully quiet about it, which means there’s something going on behind the scenes. Seven can’t find anything to directly link Mr. Han Sr. to Triad—if he’s an operative or in their pocket somehow, then taking Jumin hostage could be some form of punishment or motivation though, Seven doubts that’s the case. Mr. Han Sr. doesn’t quite seem to have what it takes to be an operative—though there is a possibility he’s in Triad’s pocket. Still, his bank statements look clean and he doesn’t have any unordinary ties to businesses that are known Triad affiilates.

At this point, he’s desperate for something. Anything. He’s not used to his world being this quiet—no whispers, no trails, no Jumin to distract him from his lack of success, no nothing.

Vanderwood sighs, pinching the bridge of their nose.

“I’ll start with the good news,” they say, “They’re both here. In Busan. Your friend Jumin was moved here a few days ago after a brief stint in Incheon. Apparently they couldn’t get what they wanted from him there, so they moved him to HQ.”

Seven breathes a sigh of relief. As long as they know where Jumin is, he could honestly give less of a fuck why Triad’s taken him. He knows he _should_ care, but he’s drowning in relief. Jumin’s here. Alive. He’s not out of the fire yet, of course, but knowing where he is removes half the battle. They don’t have to waste any more time looking for him—which means they just might get to him before the worst happens.

He doesn’t want any more blood on his hands.

“Bad news is it’s either Jumin or Saeran.”

“What?”

“You know as well as I do,” Vanderwood is doing a poor job of masking the tortured look on their face, “We can only save one. They’ll know we’re here and if we’re not careful they’ll kill us all. Someone’s going to have to wait.”

“We’re not giving up like that,” Seven says, biting down on his lip. “Don’t tell me that. We’ll find a way. We’ll split up if we have to. Saeran’s waited long enough and Jumin isn’t valuable enough for Triad to keep alive—we can’t gamble with his life like that. If we go get them at the same time we can—” The pitch of Seven’s voice rises in desperation, but Vanderwood stops him, gripping his arm tightly.

“We can’t,” they say firmly. “We have a better chance of going in together. Besides, if we split up, I don’t know if Saeran will trust me enough to go with me—he needs to see your face. I don’t know what they’ve done to him and we’re going to have a hard enough time getting him out as it is. Jumin…” Vanderwood pauses, furrowing their brow, “They’ve taken him for a reason. He’s still alive which means they haven’t gotten what they want from him just yet. Have you found out anything about why they’ve taken him?”

Seven shakes his head, ignoring the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Triad’s taken enough from him—he won’t let them have Jumin too. And he won’t wait another moment longer.

“Well, we don’t know that they’ll kill Jumin at least,” Vanderwood says softly.

“And we don’t know that they won’t,” Seven yells. His composure is slipping, but Vanderwood seems unfazed by his outburst. He grips the sleeve of Vanderwood’s jacket tightly.

“Please,” he whispers, looking at the floor, “We have to save them both, there has to be a way. They’re… my family.”

“Hey,” Vanderwood says gently, tipping Seven’s face up to look at them. “I’m on your side. You’re talking as if I don’t know what it’s like to lose family to Triad. They took my family too, only I wasn’t as lucky as you are.”

“Then we go in together,” Seven pleads. “If we have to leave someone behind… it should be me.” He looks down at the ground, ignoring the tears that fall from his eyes.

“If I can’t protect the people I care about, then I’m not really good for much. And after all that’s happened I deserve to die.”

Vanderwood grips his hand, and pulls him close to their chest.

“You idiot,” they sigh, “I didn’t sign up to die, and I’m not letting you die either. Not on my watch. So don’t you start thinking like that, got it?”

Seven’s not as hopeful as Vanderwood—he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be. But for once, he’s happy to have Vanderwood’s foolish optimism and determination on his side.

 

* * *

 

“It seems you know even less about your friend than I do,” Jihae smirks. She glances at the photo of Luciel she holds in her hand—an older photo, one taken from a distance. A candid.

Jumin doesn’t know how long it’s been—it feels like she’s been questioning him for hours. For all he knows, she has been. His entire body aches. All his cuts and bruises seem to run together and he’s not sure where the pain starts and where it stops.

He clenches his jaw shut and focuses only on breathing—the latter proving to be the more difficult of the two tasks.

“Are you really going to protect someone who’s lied to you for the past few years?”

She’s good. He’ll give her that. He’s not sure if she was a Triad operative or a businesswoman first—her charisma helps her in both situations. Lesser men would be terrified of her. Jihae shows no fear, no hesitation, and her words are just as cutting as any instrument she can find for torture. She’s the embodiment of true power—corrupt power, but power all the same.

“Do you want to know what I know about him? What I know about you?” she asks, leaning forward. Jumin doesn’t move.

“I don’t need to know anything from you.”

“Saeyoung Choi,” she says, flicking the photograph. “That’s his real name. Saeyoung Choi, son of our lovely Prime Minister. Though, I’m assuming he hasn’t told you that last bit.”

Luciel’s father was… dead, Jumin has always assumed. Luciel seemed content enough to never talk about him and Jumin always got the feeling it wasn’t just because he was in the business of keeping secrets. Luciel never seemed particularly fond of his father in the first place which seemed odd, considering Luciel was kind and friendly to most people, so Jumin had felt it was safe to assume his father was a bad man. And most certainly a dead one.

But the Prime Minister?

“His father has been funding some of our excursions,” she continues, “in return, we keep his secret. Saeyoung is another little secret we’d like to keep—one his father wants us to keep as well. We’ve been looking for him for years.”

“You won’t find him,” Jumin smiles. Luciel is stubborn and Jumin knows this better than anyone. If he doesn’t want to be found, he’s proven time and time again that he won’t be. As irritating as Luciel can be, he’s an impressive person.

“I thought so too, but I’m thinking my luck has changed. See, I tried to play nice with you,” she says, setting down Luciel’s photograph and leaning back in her chair. She crosses her arms, not taking her eyes off Jumin.

“The Prime Minister can only funnel so much money into Triad without being suspected and, as it turns out, we’re running a little tight on cash. So I tried to get in bed with your father. Metaphorically, of course,” she laughs, “And the way to do that was to get in bed with you. Literally.” She stands, pacing around the room. Jumin doesn’t bother to follow her with his good eye.

“And when that proved to be too difficult of a task, I started playing dirty. I’ve had a hunch that you’re your father’s favorite child. Holding you for ransom seems rather old fashioned, but it gets the job done. It’s a stroke of luck, really, bringing you here. I didn’t expect that you’d be so close with Saeyoung. But since I have you and something _else_ I know that he wants, I’m sure he’ll crawl out of whatever godforsaken hole he’s hiding in. And that’s the beauty of it all.” She stops in front of him once more, taking his chin in her hand and smirking.

“I won’t have to find him. I know he’ll come running right to me,” she clicks her tongue, “The human heart is such a weak little thing, isn’t it?”

 

* * *

 

Triad’s warehouse was just as impressive as the high tech bunker Seven has imagined it to be. Vanderwood’s shown him the layout, given him a list of codes they’ve managed to snag, taught him the reach of CCTV’s. Everything has a weakness, even Triad’s high security, and Vanderwood is a pro at finding those weaknesses.

Vanderwood didn’t seem too happy about splitting up, but eventually they gave in. It seems to be the only course of action that will give them a shot at getting both Saeran _and_ Jumin out alive. Or out at all.

The plan is simple—straightforward. Vanderwood goes after Jumin, Seven goes for Saeran. A word from Vanderwood and Jumin will easily trust them. And even if he doesn’t, Jumin isn’t stupid enough to stay in a place like this. He’ll take his chances with Vanderwood if it means an escape. Saeran is the tricky part. He’s been with Triad a lot longer and kept alive for some unknown reason. The extent of the damage that Triad has done is immeasurable—but, with any luck, he’ll recognize Seven and be more willing to trust a familiar face.

Seven’s heart is pounding and his palms are sweating. Dodging guards is easy, but staying out of CCTV view always proves to be more difficult. He’s contorting himself in ways he never knew were possible, crawling on ledges and hanging from railings and banisters, staying out of sight. His progress is slow, only encouraging the feeling of restlessness to bubble up deeper inside of him, but his mind takes over. He does his best to push down his anxieties, closing off his heart and the extra and unnecessary emotions it evokes. He keeps his mind as calm as possible. He recites the alphabet in every language he knows. He counts prime numbers.

2\. 3. 5. 7.

He’s getting closer—the corridor he’s making his way down should only be a few feet from the room they’re keeping Saeran in. It’s got heavier security according to Vanderwood—but of course it would be, Triad wouldn’t leave one of their most prized possessions unguarded. And besides, nothing that Seven has wanted ever came easy.

43\. 47. 53. 59. 61.

More breaths in and out, steady footwork, shaking hands. The moment feels rather surreal. He’s close—the number of guards has increased, but there’s a service shaft in the ceiling that Seven can climb to across the heating pipes. The biggest issue here is not making noise. And then of course there’s the issue of pain should the heat come on—best case scenario his hands would be burned to shit. Luckily, the guards seem to be making small talk, so he has a bit of a margin of error in the noise department.

His fingers fumble in his pockets, grasping at the mini screwdriver and he sets to work on the service shaft. He listens to the guards as he works.

“—only a matter of time before he gives in. She’s been in there for ages.”

“Who is he anyway?”

“Some rich guy’s kid.”

“Another one? Fuck. Makes you miss the days when we didn’t have to guard these shits, huh?”

“This one’s different. Apparently we’re strapped for cash and his dad’s going to give it to us so we can get back to doing the shit we used to. Feels a lot like babysitting in the meantime though.”

So Jumin was ransom bait. Assuming they were talking about Jumin—perhaps Triad has made a business of kidnapping heirs and illegitimate children… Seven wouldn’t exactly be surprised. At least it means they won’t kill Jumin—it doesn’t guarantee his safety certainly, but he’s not a throwaway.

As much as he wishes he could sit around and eavesdrop he knows they’re on a time schedule. If he and Vanderwood don’t get in and out at similar times their whole plan is fucked. Triad is big, there are plenty of guards, but going in and extracting Saeran and Jumin at the same time gives them one advantage: Triad will have to split up too. It’s not a foolproof plan, but it’s better than nothing.

He pushes himself through the service shaft, looking through the vents and planning his drop— there should be another vent close to Saeran’s exact location. His heart picks up its pace.

Seven’s been looking for his brother for years—a goal that seemed unreachable, but here he was, moments away from achieving his dream. What would he say to his brother after all these years? Where could he start? He’d like to start with an apology—Saeran deserved that at least—but the timing was bad. He didn’t have the luxury of a reunion just yet. The priority was getting out.

Still, dropping in with a “Hi, I’m your brother, remember me? Let’s go!” seems awkward, rushed, and unlikely to work. Years with Triad can’t be good for rational thinking either and Seven would be an idiot if he didn’t expect some sort of hesitation or resistance from his brother. Saeran’s alive, which means he’s useful beyond existing as a secret. Triad could have killed him years ago and still demanded payment from their father—he’s never seen or taken an interest in his sons other than ensuring they remained a secret. A decoy would work just as well as the real thing.

He wipes the sweat from his brow.

He’s passed three vents—according to Vanderwood’s intel, this fourth vent should be the correct one. He peeks through the bars. It’s a bit of a drop to the floor, but that’s not the real issue. While he’s working on getting the vent door off, he keeps glancing around the room. It looks to be free of guards which is a stroke of luck—Triad assumes the guards outside the door are enough. In most instances they would be. What really catches his eye is the only figure in the room. It has to be Saeran, but Seven doesn’t have a good view of him. His fingers shake as he removes the vent and he quietly sticks his head down into the room. Saeran doesn’t lift his head. He almost looks asleep.

Seven drops completely out of the vent, miscalculating his jump and collapsing to his knees. He’s pumping so much adrenaline he’s shaking all over. He’s never gotten a rush like this before. Saeran still doesn’t move and Seven’s breath catches in his throat—for the briefest moment, he wonders if his brother is truly dead after all. As he steps closer, however, Saeran slowly lifts his head, and Seven gets the first look at his brother he’s had in years.

He’s so much the same young boy, and yet so different.

His hair is no longer the same shade of reddish auburn as Seven’s. It’s been bleached, dyed, hacked. The ends are all uneven and it’s a whitish color. He’s wearing contacts—teal ones—and his eyes look dead somehow. The fire of his youth has been extinguished. His clothes are old and worn—his pants are full of holes and his shirt is wrinkled and patched. His bare arms are covered in bruises and angry red marks.

“You’re not one of them…” he speaks slowly, his voice barely a whisper. He sounds tired. Seven’s heart aches. “The only men that come in here are the men with white hands. Two of them, at all times. They’re always watching. But you don’t have white hands. You’re not one of them.”

“I’m not,” he shakes his head and holds his palms out for proof. “It’s me,” he takes a few more cautious steps forward, kneeling beside Saeran and letting his brother’s eyes study his face. Saeran doesn’t bother to mask any expressions, they’re all minimalistic anyway, as though he’s forgotten how to communicate with his face. He seems to have forgotten a lot of things—he’s speaking strangely, quietly, as though he’s only been allowed to whisper to himself for the last few years.

“Do you remember me?” Seven asks, his hope hitching in his throat. It’s taking Saeran too long to recognize him, isn’t it? Seven spends every day thinking of Saeran, surely it would be the same for Saeran. Even if Saeran’s only thoughts of Seven were accompanied by curses, Seven would he happy—it’s more than he deserves to say the least.

“It’s you,” he repeats, still trying to remember the face before him. “They told me you didn’t exist anymore, that I’d have to use the computers to call you into existence again. The men with the white hands said I was the only one who could bring you back from the dead. S…Saeyoung,” Saeran lets the whisper drip out of his throat after a few silent moments, yet his face betrays no sort of emotion. “Did I succeed?”

“I’m not dead Saeran,” Seven moves to untie Saeran, to help him stand, but he’s surprised to find that Saeran isn’t bound in the first place. He’s just… sitting here.

“So I failed,” Saeran casts his eyes to the ground, “I must be imagining you. I’ll be punished, you know.”

“You’re not going to be punished,” Seven says firmly. “I’ve been looking for you. I’m so sorry I haven’t found you sooner, but I’ve come to get you out of here,” he offers a hand. “You know I’d never leave you behind.”

Inexplicably, Saeran’s eyes well up with tears. It’s a bit off-putting, this sudden burst of emotion, but at the same time, it’s nice to see he’s not completely broken. His speech has been coming out so stiffly it all feels scripted, like Saeran can’t think of his own words, he can only regurgitate information Triad’s been feeding him. Like there’s no room in his head for anything except Triad’s information. Still, tears are a good sign. Even after Triad’s been fucking with him for all these years, there’s still a human in there somewhere.

“Saeyoung,” Saeran sobs quietly. He’s not hysterical, his tears are controlled but genuine. He doesn’t accept Seven’s hand, only stares up at him with his foreign eyes. “You’re too late,” he whispers. He sounds scared. His voice sounds less stiff now, like it’s changed somehow, like he’s finally able to speak his own mind. “You’re too late. She knows you’re here, she can see through all the walls.”

“Saeran—”

“She won’t let me leave. She won’t let you leave either. Even the men with white hands are scared of her.”

“Scared of who?” Seven tries to pull Saeran to his feet. He’s mildly successful—Saeran is no more helpful at pulling his own weight then a sack of rice, but he allows Seven to move him. At the very least, once he’s standing he stays standing.

“The woman with the white shoes.” He shakes underneath Seven’s fingers. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking up at Seven at last. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry. I promised her I’d do it. A broken promise is a broken heart.”

“I don’t care what she made you do, Saeran, we’ve got to get out of here. You’re coming home with me where you’ll be safe and she can’t make you do anything ever again.” Seven pulls him toward the vent, looking around the room for something to stand on.

“Safe,” Saeran repeats the word as though it’s something completely foreign. He lets out a sad laugh. “Safe.” He shakes his head.

Seven wishes he’d thought of some way to stay in touch with Vanderwood. He was expecting a handful, but not this. Saeran seems… so unlike himself. He’s talking in nonsense and he won’t move unless Seven moves him, which would be fine except they have to crawl silently through the service shaft and across the heating pipes before Seven can get them out a window and carry Saeran to safety. He’ll get Saeran to safety, of course, that’s not the issue. It’s the timing. The escape window is getting more and more narrow and his faith in making it is wearing more and more thin.

“She made me do it,” Saeran repeats. “She said if anyone came in I had to do it. I promised.”

“Promised to do what?”

“This,” Saeran says. He takes a deep breath and his eyes cloud over, the tears immediately ceasing, and lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL I AM SO SORRY FOR FALLING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH!!! I planned on updating a lot sooner but I didn't get time over vacation rip ;;-;; 
> 
> Since Mint Eye doesn't exist in this universe, my interpretation of Saeran is gonna be a bit ooc-- he's still suffered, but in a different way than he did in MysMe canon, so his behaviors and personality will be a bit different!! (At the core he's still gonna be our sweet boy tho I promise!)
> 
> Thank you for your patience and continued support-- I hope it's been worth the wait and y'all are so great and lovely, I love you so much!


	12. Chapter 12

Trust is a fragile thing, Jumin knows this. It’s the one lesson he’s learned well on his own—his father didn’t teach him, Jihyun didn’t teach him, he taught himself. This lesson has made some of his more painful life experiences meaningful— his first lesson in trust coming shortly after his parents split. The lesson he’d learned made the memory of his father’s harsh fingers wiping away his tears, muttering, “Men don’t cry over women” hurt less. Trust is easily taken advantage of, brushed aside, ignored. For something so important, it’s so weak, so easily and carelessly destroyed by people. Trust is a quality he’s prided himself on valuing. He protects himself by placing trust in so few others, and so far it has served him well. But it makes sense that even the most valuable lessons are easily forgotten in the face of desperation. It was foolish of him to trust Jihae so easily and it seems laughable that he was so proud of such a weakness—he was so willingly weak, so ready to trust, that he has no one to blame but himself.

There are few things that can comfort him in his current position. No, there was only one thing—the promise of freedom. That promise was so far from reach it seemed impossible. He isn’t sure how long he’s been here, wherever here is, but the outside world seems like a false reality. He’s numb all over, bleeding, he can barely see from his left eye, but he can see well enough when Luciel is dragged into the room. His eyes widen upon seeing Jumin and a pained expression flashes across his face. A feeble looking boy follows behind, mustered on by some of Jihae’s thugs. Despite his obviously altered appearance—hair dye, tattoos, extreme wardrobe— he looks similar to Luciel somehow, his eyes hold the same secrecy.

As much pain as she’d brought him, Jumin can’t help but admire Jihae. She’s clever, fearless, and so obviously good at getting what she wants which, apparently, is Luciel. And, as it turned out, a marriage into the Han family. It seems that Jumin has as much luck as his father when it comes to suitors—maybe even worse luck—because she was really only in it for the money. Part of him was glad, but honestly, the thought wasn’t comforting. Triad was a lot of things, and broke was certainly one of them. Jumin and his father seemed to be the only solution, though desperation was starting to leak out. Jihae would lose her cool much more often, she would hit harder, yell louder, leave faster. He almost wondered if she would eventually believe him when he promised her he didn’t know a thing about Triad, other than what she’d told him.

“I’m not in the business of information,” he tells her, his voice sounding softer and farther away with each time he’s forced to speak.

“But you are in business, and you’d best pray that your father gives in soon.”

Jumin wasn’t sure how many days he’d been kept here, wasn’t sure how many more days he could last. His own suffering was no small ordeal, but watching Luciel and the strange boy waste away in front of him only added to his misery. He almost hoped his father _would_ give in. It was tempting—if given to Jihae, his money would go on to fund the deaths of countless others, but it almost seemed worth it to save Luciel and his companion. It wouldn’t happen, but the idea was nice sometimes.

Especially when torturing Jumin was no longer enough for Jihae.

“I promised,” the strange boy cries out. Jumin learned his name was Saeran. Luciel’s brother. He was almost offended he never knew Luciel had a brother, but as it turns out, there’s so much about him Jumin never knew. There’s no point in being angry. It’s just a goal now, to get out so that he can grill Luciel about everything. To be trusted.

Saeran is normally quiet when he’s allowed to join Luciel and Jumin in their room, but when Jihae’s guards pull him to his feet, his eyes widen and his protests drown out the silence. “I promised I would tell you and I did!”

“Yes,” Jihae says, folding her arms, “Don’t worry, sweet. You’re just coming in for a check-up.”

“I don’t want to see the men with white hands. Please,” his voice is soft now, trembling. Jihae is unmoved.

“Take him to the back room,” she says, turning on her heel and exiting the room. The guards don’t struggle to pull the boy out of the room—he’s clearly struggling against them as hard as he can, but he weighs virtually nothing.

The door closes behind them, plunging the room into silence once more.

“I’m sorry,” Saeran mutters. It’s the first time he’s talked in what Jumin can only imagine has been days. The three of them hardly exchanged words. Talking took energy that none of them had. Luciel’s voice is raspy with disuse. Jumin isn’t quite sure who the apology is meant for, so he remains silent. He struggles to keep his eyes open, waiting for them to drag the boy back, but he’s asleep before they can come back.

* * *

 

_“Our message isn’t getting through,” Jihae says, a smug expression on her face. Jumin is afraid to ask what the camera behind her is for. He can imagine. “But no one can ignore pleas from their own son.”_

_“I’m not going to beg for you,” Jumin says, tilting his chin upwards. He’s lost everything but his dignity at this point, so he’s going to clutch onto it for dear life._

_“I figured you would say that,” she laughs. “And so I won’t ask you to beg for me. I’m not an idiot.” Her heels click and echo in the room as she walks forward. She makes as though she’s going to reach for Jumin, but instead pulls Luciel to his feet. He can barely keep his eyes open and he’s certainly unable to stand without help. Jihae flicks her hand and a guard standing at the door comes forward to hold Luciel up._

_“You’re going to beg for him,” she smiles, jerking her chin towards Luciel._ _In a movement so quick Jumin’s eyes can barely follow, she pulls something from her pocket and quickly brushes Luciel’s skin._

_He screams._

_Jumin forces his eyes to focus. Lines of red run down his arm when Jihae touched him—she’s cut him. Deeply. Jumin’s heart plummets down to his stomach, but he doesn’t say anything._

_Another flash. Another scream. Another line of red appears on Luciel’s arm._

_“Stop,” Jumin commands weakly. Luciel shakes his head. “Stop,” he repeats. Jihae’s knife pauses just above Luciel’s skin._

_“Jumin don’t,” Luciel grits his teeth, “I’m not worth it. You can’t do anything they ask or it will never end.” He grits his teeth and bites back a scream as Jihae brings her knife across his skin once more. “How do you think I got here?” He tries to smile, his eyes shining with tears._

_“STOP,” Jumin yells. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears. Jihae freezes with a smile on her lips._

_“Why should I?” she asks. Bitch. She’s really dragging this out._

_“I’ll give you whatever you want. However much you want, just stop this,” he growls. She glances towards the camera._

_“I’m glad we have an agreement,” she says, speaking slowly. “But you’re sure? I can have whatever I want? Speak up, darling, you’re on camera.”_

_“Whatever you want,” Jumin repeats. As much as Jumin wants to, he can’t look away from Luciel—blood is running down his arm and dripping onto the concrete floor. He can’t read Luciel’s expression, he just stares into his eyes. They’re so sad._

_They’re almost asking why Jumin really thinks he’s worth saving. And Jumin tries to communicate back, but he doesn’t have the words. He just hopes that somehow Luciel will understand._

_“Whatever I want,” Jihae repeats, her smile growing wider. “Aside from the necessary funds, there’s only one thing I want.”_

_Luciel’s eyes have never looked more radiant. The tears make his eyes brighter somehow. Like pools of gold._

_“I want Luciel Choi dead.”_

_Before Jumin can breathe, Jihae plunges her knife into Luciel’s throat, scarlet coating her fingers and spraying into the air._

_Luciel’s eyes look empty._

* * *

 

Jumin bolts awake, every nerve in his body on high alert. The room is dim, but he can still make out Luciel’s form huddled in a corner halfway across the room. His scarlet head lifts as he hears Jumin’s gasp.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly as Jumin slides across the floor closer to him. “Jumin?”

His hands are tied at the wrist, but Jumin runs his fingers across Luciel’s skin, across his bicep, and breathes out a sigh of relief. The skin is unblemished. There’s no river of blood, no scar. His fingers trail up to Luciel’s neck. Jumin can feel his pulse even with the slightest press of his fingers. It’s a comforting thud. It tells him Luciel is alive. He presses his lips to Luciel’s throat, kissing him lightly, still relishing in the soft pounding of blood against skin.

“You must have really lost it,” Luciel sighs into Jumin’s hair. He almost laughs.

“Maybe,” Jumin agrees. “But I don’t think so.”

“You don’t have to lie to me. When we get out of this, I won’t tell your father you’re mentally unfit to inherit his company,” Luciel says. There’s a smile to his voice. Jumin laughs.

“Are you going to tell me what brought this on?” Luciel asks, nudging him with his shoulder. “We’ve been in here for days and you’ve barely moved outside of getting beat around. There were a couple of times I thought you were dead.”

“I—” Jumin bites his lip. “Bad dream,” he shrugs. It’s more than that. Torture was on the daily agenda here. It didn’t bother him anymore. The bad part of the dream was losing Luciel. Not because it meant he was guilty—though that certainly didn’t help—but because it left Jumin with the knowledge that he truly lost everything. For all his billions of won, luxurious belongings, fancy dinners, and lack of want, Luciel is the only thing in his life he can’t replace.

“You died,” he says simply. Luciel is quiet for a moment.

“Well, that wouldn’t be so bad. I’m the one who got you in this mess in the first place,” Luciel laughs quietly.

“That’s just it,” Jumin says, lifting his head from Luciel’s neck and looking him in the eyes. Pools of gold. “Losing you was the worst thing that happened to me. The worst thing that _could_ happen to me.” He’s trying to say something here, but he doesn’t quite have the words for it. He tries to force his brain to remember what Zen had told him about love forever ago—that’s what he’s trying to say here. It’s stupid and hardly an appropriate time, but somehow that makes it the best time.

“There’s no room in my head for anything but you,” Jumin speaks slowly, “You’re all I think about. And you’re all I worry about.”

Luciel is silent, blinking slowly.

“Inexplicably, I—” Jumin’s breath catches in his throat. His tongue feels heavy. He looks down, his cheeks flushing. “Ever since you showed up at my penthouse with staples in your ribcage… and that dress,” he almost laughs, running his fingers across Luciel’s skin again as if to reassure himself once more that there truly were no marks. “I was too stupid to realize it until it might have been too late, but I think I fell in love with you.”

“I see,” Luciel says. He pauses, pursing his lips. Jumin instantly feels idiotic, not even sure he can blame Luciel’s reaction on the time and place. “Trust me, Jumin, it’s not me you’re in love with.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Mary,” Luciel scoffs, “Mary Vanderwood. You love Mary Vanderwood. And she isn’t real.”

“I thought I loved Mary at first. But she isn’t real. She’s never been real. And when she fell away, I realized I was in love with the man behind the mask.” There’s no response from Luciel and for some reason that makes Jumin want to talk more. Something, _anything_ would be better than silence.

“Jihae says your name is Saeyoung Choi.”

“That’s me,” he says darkly. “Or it was.”

“Saeyong Choi,” Jumin repeats. The name feels foreign on his tongue. “Luciel. Named himself after a fallen angel and risked life and limb to rescue his brother, and to rescue me even after I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong.”

“You didn’t fall in love with me, Jumin,” Luciel repeats, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself at this point. “I’m just the man behind the mask and he’s not worth much, I’m afraid. He almost got you killed.”

“I’d like to think I know a thing or two about worth,” Jumin says, taking Luciel’s hand in his own. They haven’t done this in so long—just, touched. Ignored the world around them and the problems that bit at their heels and just touched. But the warmth and comfort of Luciel’s skin brought the same muddled clarity to Jumin’s mind as it always had. “You think that man isn’t worth much, but he understands me in a way that I never thought possible. Saeyoung Choi is the most valuable thing in my life and I cherish him. I cherish you above all else.” He looks back up into Luciel’s eyes and there’s an intensity there he’s never seen before.

“Jumin, I—”

Luciel’s words catch in Jumin’s throat as he leans forward and kisses him. As difficult as it was to learn, sometimes words don’t do anything justice. Sometimes there’s no place for logic or explanation. Sometimes logic is just… wrong. Sometimes logic is just emotion.

He’d been on the fence for so long, so unsure of himself. He cared for Luciel, and his feelings sometimes matched the description of love. Sometimes they didn’t, and he worried that he was getting everything wrong, that he was setting the two of them up for heartbreak. But now, he realized, he couldn’t deny what he felt. The love that he’d been waiting for was some unattainable fairytale, but what he had here, with Luciel… that was real. That was real and for the taking, and he’d be the world’s most colossal idiot to ignore it.

He pulls away, breaking the kiss slowly, and Luciel breathes a sigh.  

“Jumin Han,” he whispers, the syllables of his name falling out of his lips so gently. Almost a way of promising love in return. He smiles—it’s a small smile, and it’s tinged with sadness, but it’s genuine. Jumin’s heart feels like it’s going to burst. “If we do this how will it end?” He asks

“I… I don’t know,” Jumin admits. Luciel sighs again, scooting so that he can lay his head in Jumin’s lap. Jumin lets his fingers run through Luciel’s hair and they sit in silence for a moment before Luciel speaks up again.

“Aren’t you scared? After all that’s happened, aren’t you worried?”

“I’m more scared of not letting myself be happy with you. Of not being able to protect you. Or Help you. Or not being able to help you find happiness of your own. That’s what truly scares me.”

“We’re going to get out of here, Romeo,” Luciel says, laughing confidently. Their moment of vulnerability is over, even though it still lingers in the air. Something between them has changed—it’s lighter somehow. Luciel reaches up and squeezes Jumin’s hand. “And when we do, you can help me find happiness in the bottom of a bag of Honey Budda Chips.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH SO I HAVE NO EXCUSE Y'ALL I!!! AM!!! SO!!! SORRY!!!!!  
> anyways here's this update-- i'm sorry it's short and i'm sorry if it sucks, it might take me a while to get back into the swing of things!! I'm going to try and update regularly for the few chaps we have left (yes we are coming to an end rip)! Thank you all so much for the support and sweet things you have said, I'm honestly so flattered that you've enjoyed it so much! <3


	13. Chapter 13

Seven feels arms lifting him. He doesn’t move to help, just lets himself be dragged across the floor. He’s changed rooms so many times now, the guards throwing him around like nothing. He’s only here to fetch a price, though he didn’t feel like he’d be worth much.

“You’d think with all the meals you’ve been missing, you wouldn’t weigh so much,” A voice groans.

Funny. What a great time for Jihae’s minions to grow a sense of humor.

He hasn’t been able to open his eyes for days, and doesn’t bother to try and look where he’s being dragged off to, but he swears he feels a cool breeze on his cheek. It’s usually so stuffy where Triad keeps him. It’s like they know overly warm rooms are his personal hell. He just wants to sleep and never wake up. He wants an end to the nightmare.

He wishes he wasn’t giving up. That he could do something to get Jumin and Saeran out of here, but he’s never felt more hopeless in his life.

He’s lost track of time and his own body feels like a prison. Things got both better and worse when Jumin showed up. The companionship was nice. It was nice to know that Jumin wasn’t a dream. Still, seeing him suffer was more than punishment enough. It was all his fault that Jumin was here right now. That Saeran was here right now.

Worthless.

Why couldn’t he just die already?

If they ever got out of here – a big if – things would be broken anyway. Saeran wouldn’t trust him, which might be just as well. But they wouldn’t make up for the years they’d lost like Seven had dreamed they would.

And Jumin. Jumin wouldn’t love him anymore, of that he was certain. He’d confessed his love a couple of nights ago. It all felt like a dream. It was probably delirium. That’s what this whole thing felt like. Delirium.

He’d be lucky if Jumin even talked to him after this. He wondered if the dynamic at the RFA would be too much different. He could lie and tell them some dumb story about why things were different between the two of them, but it was likely they were all worried about the two of them having been missing for so long.

Stupid. How could he be so stupid? Getting Jumin wrapped up in something like this…

Dogs bark in the distance. That’s new.

“Seven, come on,”

The voice startles him. Or, rather, the use of his name startles him. None of Jihae’s guards called him Seven, none of them called him anything, really – it was usually just a kick in the ribs or a “hey you” if they felt generous enough to actually address him.

He feels hands on his face. Cool. Gentle. He realizes he isn’t being dragged.

“Seven,” the voice says again. They’re panting. “We have to go, but we’re not going to make it if you can’t help me out a little here.”

He knows that voice.

“Vanderwood?” he asks, his own voice sounding dry, cracked, and far away.

“There’s no time for you to get all sappy, I told you I wasn’t going to let you die.” He can hear the smile in Vanderwood’s voice. “You look like shit by the way,” they add.

For the first time in what feels like years, Luciel manages a laugh. It feels rough and it hurts his throat, but there’s a weight that’s been lifted off his chest.

“Now stop making me drag you like a two-year-old and let’s go,” they say, pulling him to his feet.

“Wait,” Seven says, digging his feet into the ground, “We have to go back. We have to get the others.”

“They’re taken care of, don’t worry,” Vanderwood says, pulling him along. “You just focus on putting one foot in front of the other. We’re going to get out of here.”

Seven is too tired to argue. He’d be too tired to walk if Vanderwood wasn’t holding about ninety percent of his weight. The least he can do is try.

About five steps later, he blacks out.

\--

There’s a warm cloth on his head. His eyelids still feel like lead, but he manages to open them. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to see. He’s been having weird dreams, weird hallucinations, maybe he’s still with Triad. Maybe he’s dead. Wouldn’t that be a huge relief.

His eyes are assaulted by a brightness all around. If this was heaven you’d think they’d at least be able to get rid his light sensitivity. He squints and things slowly come in to focus. There’s a window across the room that’s slightly cracked open. The drapes are blowing gently with a breeze. The walls are white, but in a comforting way. Nothing about the room feels overly clinical other than the IV bag he notices by his bed. There’s a potted plant on a table beside him and a pile of blankets on top of him.

Vanderwood is standing above him, washcloth in hand, and as soon as they see him open his eyes, their face relaxes. They smile.

“Get enough beauty rest?” They ask.

“How?”

“I’ll explain it all later,” They say, immediately able to read the intent of his question. They’re obviously pleased that they get to lord information over him. “Suffice it to say you won’t have to worry about Triad anymore.”

“Vanderwood,” Seven reaches out to squeeze his friend’s hand as a silent thanks. They smile wider and squeeze his hand back. The two of them have been through hell and back over the years, they’ve lost so much, but somehow managed to hold on to each other. Maybe it was his brush with death making him overly sentimental, but he was sure as hell grateful he had a friend that he didn’t push away. Someone he could trust.

“You’ve got some visitors waiting to see you,” Vanderwood says, breaking the moment after a pause. They were never an overly emotional person. And Seven was rather grateful to not dwell on the circumstances for his gratitude. They turn and head out the door.

Moments later, a timid white-haired boy peeks into the room. Saeran. Seven freezes, unsure of what his brother’s reaction will be. He’s relieved to see the boy looks much better than he did when they were kept by Triad, which almost makes him wonder how long they’ve been free. His blue eyes are much brighter and his red hair is starting to show at the roots. His eyes still look sad, and Seven thinks that’s maybe something that will never go away.

“You’re done dreaming,” Saeran says softly, walking toward Seven. He sits on the side of the bed, staring at Seven’s face, almost like he can’t believe Seven is real.

“Well, I’m done for now,” Seven laughs, “but that depends on how entertaining you are.”

Saeran cracks a small smile.

“I was worried you wouldn’t wake up,” He says timidly. “I’ve seen it happen to other people before. Friends. People that Triad took. They’d touch you and you wouldn’t wake up, you’d stay dreaming. I told them they better not do that to you or I’d empty my brain.”

It might be that Seven is too tired, but Saeran is making less sense than usual. The whole “Triad kills people” part made sense, but beyond that, he wasn’t sure what his brother was trying to say. And he should care, but he’s too tired. And too happy. It all feels strange. Maybe he really is dead. Maybe they all are.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” He smiles at Saeran.

Saeran babbles some more, and Seven only half pays attention. The sound of his brother’s voice is soothing. It’s light and breathy and he rambles about nonsense, but it’s present. It crashes against him in waves, filling him with a peace. And yet an ache creeps into his limbs as years of tension seep out. He’s so tired. He’s been searching for Saeran for so long, now that he has his brother back, he’s not really sure what he’s going to do now. What they’re going to do.

But then something new hits him. The thought hits his chest like a sack of bricks.

“Saeran,” he says slowly, interrupting his brother. Saeran tilts his head to the side as though he’s only just now remembering his brother can speak.

“Do you remember the other guy that was with us? The one they wanted money from?” Saeran nods his head solemnly.

“We couldn’t leave until he gave them the money.”

“That’s right,” Seven says, struggling to sit, “Do you know where he is now?”

Vanderwood had been formulating a plan when they thought it was only Saeran with Triad. But when they realized Jumin was in danger too, they said something that Seven had all but forgotten.

It could only be one of them. Saeran or Jumin. It wouldn’t be possible to save them both.

Seven didn’t want to have to make that decision. He couldn’t. He’d die if it meant finding a way to save them both. But it seemed that decision was made for him. It was a miracle that he and Saeran had made it out alive and, as much as he hated to admit it, Vanderwood was right. Sneaking one person out of Triad’s hold would be impossible enough. Two was unthinkable. Three? He couldn’t really think of a way it could be done.

Bile fills his throat at the thought that Jumin’s life might have been traded for his. No matter how things would have ended up between the two of them, it wasn’t a bargain he wanted to make. Jumin deserved to walk out. Seven did not.

“Where is he?” He asks Saeran, afraid to hear the answer. “Did he make it out with us?”

“Triad made him sleep,” Saeran says. “He’s still sleeping.”

Seven’s head is spinning.

Not Jumin.

Please, not Jumin.

God.

\--

When Seven wakes up again Saeran is gone. The sun has long since set, and his room is empty, bathed in a soft blue light. He feels weak, but he needs to move. He hates feeling numb, and sitting in bed will only make him feel worse. Besides, there’s only one person that’s filling his head.

Jumin.

Seven has to know what’s happened. Saeran didn’t mean to be cryptic, but “sleeping” wasn’t exactly the best answer to such an important question.

He pulls the IV from his arm, sure that Vanderwood is going to let him have it in the morning when they find out he took it out because he will inevitably put it back in wrong. He can’t seem to care. His bare feet touch cool ground and a jolt of energy rushes to his head. He slowly puts weight on his feet, and stands. It feels like it’s been ages, and it probably has, since he’s stood on his own two feet. Which makes him wonder just how much time has passed.

He pokes his head out into the hallway. He still doesn’t recognize the building he’s in, but getting a good sense of his bearings has never really been a problem for him before. Plus, the place seems relatively small.

He shuffles through the hallways, observing each room, but moving to the next when he sees it’s unoccupied. Jumin would be here too, wouldn’t he?

He’s halfway glad the first few rooms are empty. He’s not really sure how his reunion with Jumin will go. Or if there will even be one, but he doesn’t want to think too much about that possibility. What will he say? What will Jumin say? Will he be angry? Of course, he’d have every right to be. He _should_ be angry. It was Seven’s stupid selfishness that landed them in this situation in the first place. He gave in to his loneliness and at the first sign of kindness he caved, threw caution to the wind, and got Jumin hurt.

Maybe now Seven would at least have the decency to step away. He’s done enough damage already.

Room after room is empty, and with only a few left, Seven is growing desperate. He wants to stop looking, afraid that his worst fears will be confirmed. He wants to know what happened to Jumin, but at the same time he’s afraid.

Suddenly his feet are taking him a different direction from where he wants to go. There are more rooms down the hallway, but he’s leaving them behind. Running from guilt like a coward. The air in the house has become too stifling and he feels like he’s choking. He feels like he’s back with Triad, like he never really left.

He remembers seeing a balcony a couple of rooms back, sure the air will do him some good. Maybe he ought to just jump off the damn thing and be done with it. He has blood on his hands and guilt is too heavy a cross to bear.

He closes the door to the house behind him, gulping breaths of the night air. He sinks to the ground, panting breaths puncturing the silence of the night air. He closes his eyes. Does he even really deserve to be here? Alive? At what cost?

“Luciel?”

His eyes snap open.

Jumin is standing above him, a comforter wrapped around him. His face looks tired and haggard, but his eyes have a spark of life in them still.

Seven rubs his eyes, half expecting Jumin to disappear.

Jumin sinks to his knees in front of Seven, his eyes dancing with an emotion Seven can’t quite read.

Seven’s heart is racing. Jumin looks like an undignified idiot with the comforter pulled around him like that and Seven doesn’t think he’s seen a more beautiful sight in his whole life.

“What are you doing out here?” Seven asks stupidly. He could have said a million different things, _anything_ , and he chooses that.

“I’ve been having a hard time sleeping inside. It’s too stuffy,” Jumin shrugs. He studies Seven’s face in silence for a moment, almost reaching out to brush his cheek, but stopping himself. “Vanderwood told me you were still asleep,” he says finally.

“I had a lot of beauty rest to catch up on,” Seven says, unable to bite back the grin forming at the corners of his mouth.

“It didn’t work,” Jumin says, laughing.

The two of them stare at each other in silence. Jumin’s eyes memorize every inch of his face and Seven can feel his heart skipping. Jumin looks thin. He has bags under his eyes and fading bruises and a healing split lip. He looks like shit, but all things considered, he looks well. Seven doesn’t know how any of this is possible or real.

“I thought you were-” he starts, but Jumin’s lips stop him. He’s surprised. Maybe he really is dreaming. He gently pushes Jumin away.

“How can you want to do that?” He asks, “After all that I’ve put you through?”

“I thought you were dead,” Jumin says solemnly, echoing Seven. “We all did for about three days.”

“Wouldn’t that be just what I deserve?” Seven snorts.

“You’re the only reason we’re alive,” Jumin says, his brow furrowing. “With everything that was happening in there, you’re the only reason I wanted to _keep_ living.”

“Jumin,” Seven starts. He doesn’t really know where he wants the rest of his sentence to go, but he’s confused. Triad must have him in a coma or something. They couldn’t have all escaped or lived. The odds were stacked too high against them, and Seven wasn’t exactly a lucky bastard. Somewhere Jihae must be laughing her ass off, knowing that she lucked out. Two of her prisoners were each other’s weakness and there was no way she didn’t know about it. She had them in the palm of her hand. Their suffering was her bargaining chip. She could get them to do anything to spare the other. Seven would die for Jumin, and that was a dangerous thing to let your enemy know.

And even if he wasn’t dreaming, why wasn’t Jumin angry? He’d almost died for fuck’s sake. And for what? For some stupid little façade? For Seven in a wig? Because he thought he’d fallen in love when really they were both just lonely idiots? He’d been tortured because Seven had no self-control and even though he knew exactly where this would end up, he loved Jumin anyway.

Jumin brushes his hand against Seven’s cheek and Seven leans in to his touch. He’s been so used to pain and torture for so long that the soft touch of Jumin’s fingers felt foreign. There was no anger.

“Is this real?” He whispers, only half serious. Jumin laughs lightly.

He kisses Seven again, gently yet deeply, and his lips feel like home. His breath dances gently across Seven’s skin when they pull apart.

“It better be,” he replies. He moves to sit next to Seven, their backs against the glass door. Seven leans his head against Jumin’s shoulder.

“How did we get out?” Seven asks after a beat. He doesn’t want to remember Triad, but he does want to fill in the gaps.

“Apparently Vanderwood had been casing the place for ages,” Jumin says, “They managed to intercept one of the little recordings Jihae was broadcasting to my father and reached out to him for his cooperation. They said they could break us out if he was willing to help. I don’t know all of the details, but I guess he faked a money drop and got Jihae away from the place long enough to get in and get us out.”

“So Jihae’s still out there?”

“I don’t know,” Jumin hums. “I only care that we’re here. She’ll have to lay low for a while anyway. She knows she’s made some powerful enemies.”

“Jumin you have to promise me that you’ll stop. You won’t go looking for her. You can’t drag yourself into this world. She’s my problem.”

“Luciel,” Jumin starts.

“No, I mean it,” Seven says seriously, sitting up. “I’ve involved you in too many things and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I don’t know if you meant what you said when we were back at Triad, or if you were delirious, but it honestly doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see you hurt anymore.”

“You think I didn’t mean it?” Jumin asks. “When I said I cared about you?”

“Your life will only be harder if you do,” Seven says, looking down at his lap. This felt oddly like an angsty high school breakup. Except, there was more at stake, obviously.

“You’re worth that, Saeyoung,” Jumin says, Seven’s real name rolls off his tongue like a prayer. He gently lifts Seven’s gaze to his face. His expression is so earnest it breaks Seven’s heart. “We deserve to be happy. I know the future is uncertain. But _ours_ isn’t. Is it?”

It shouldn’t be in the sense that they shouldn’t really have a future together. Seven wasn’t really supposed to have a future with anyone. Especially if Triad was still out there. It was true, they’d be laying low for a while, but they’d come back. Seven still needed to be aloof. He didn’t deserve happiness if he wanted safety for himself and his loved ones. It was a small price to pay and he’d made it work for so long.

And yet, the thought of going back to where he was before, without Jumin, is almost unbearable.

So fuck it.

Seven throws his arms around Jumin’s neck and peppers his face with kisses, his caution melting away. He’s still not entirely sure he’s not dreaming, it sure as hell feels that way, but his heart is pounding in his chest. They can make this work. They’ve beaten impossible odds before. And besides, someone has to be around to keep Triad away from Jumin. And that’s what Seven wants to do. He wants to protect Jumin. He wants to see his exasperated face when Seven inevitably does something stupid. He wants to see Jumin fawn over Elizabeth. He wants to hear Jumin’s god awful puns and he wants to listen to his problems. He wants to hear Jumin’s reassurance on his bad days and be the source of comfort Jumin turns to on his. He wants to go out on stupid dates and introduce Jumin to real people food. He wants to be with him from the moment they wake up to the moment they fall asleep. That part about his future doesn’t seem so uncertain. And for once it doesn’t feel so selfish either.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever been certain about in my life,” Seven smiles. “But you might have to kiss me again to help me make _certain_ I’m certain.”

“Stop shitting around,” Jumin says, but he laughs as he pulls Seven in for another kiss.

They deserve to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost to the end of the line folks... what a ride it's been :')


End file.
